So, you sit watching a silent film of your unborn past, as you watch the unfolding drama by an anonymous writer. And there you are, walking down a path in the old country, weaving through thickets into the woods, where you step inside a shrine built two thousand years ago, not knowing what it is you are entering. The celluloid rolls on like nothing happened. But, nobody saw the forests in your life again.

the mind at night
is often unclear

but if you are hovering
in it like the moon —

full and sentient
— i always know:

i feel one thing one minute
something else the next

What you think I am feeling is not always right. That day in the chilly winter air while I was radiating sweetness to somebody who does not interest me it was the upset between us that softened my boundaries. Isn’t it strange? that the fiercest emotions should writhe and metamorphose into tenderness. I come from a place where buildings go up and down; there is no space for west and east. Not much else is like not knowing how to tell you. It is not because there are no feelings. But because of heritage, and the cold that grips the bones sometimes every year.



  1. Deeply beautiful.


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