the world

what is home to the falcon

the nest where it was raised

or the vastness of the sky?


what is home the snail

the fern in which it

leaves behind trails

of glimmering mucus

or the comfort

of the house grown out of its back?


what is home to the salmon

the ocean it spends its entire life traversing

or the river it was born in

to which it inevitably returns to die?


what is home to the gazelle

always on the move for better pastures?

the plains the plains the plains


you ask me where I am most at home and I tell you

in airports, the sky so close and

only some baggage claims away


the house I grew up in but also

the shell I grew for myself over years

tent of familiarity I can pitch wherever I go


the country I spent my life in but

also the country I was born in, the one

I know I will one day return to to die


you ask me where I am home

and I tell you the plains

the world is my savannah and it all looks the same

I will settle down where there is water

and move on when there is none


where am I at home?

the world, the world, the world.


Googled fireflies and was not disappointed

There are more than 2000 species of fireflies
that exist in the world today
sending light signals into the skies
to attract mates or prey
there are two types vying for my favorite spot
tropical fireflies, thar can sychronize the glownig
(I imagine that’s what kind was floating while ariel and eric were out rowing)
or the femme fatale firefly, which shoots its shot
by posing as from another type of firefly
and then promptly eating any male that comes by.

tossing towels in the forest

tossed the towel
in the quiet
of the forest morning

if a tree gives up in a forest
while no one is watching
does it make a sound?
does it even fall?
or will pride glue
its branches to the sky
standing vindictevely though growth
is no longer an option?

wheat field

being buried is
end to most things but
not really
come back years later
and see how everything grew
without you,
see how you paid tribute
to the very dust that spat
man out in the beginning
you may have been buried but
things still live
and grow
and thrive
and isn’t that

self-portrait of a people-pleaser

to look at me

is to look at a

two-way mirror from

the closed side

see only your face

looking slightly wrong

but still yours

while I stand on the other side

frantically trying to maintain

the illusion


love yourself and you

will love me

there is no other way

to do it

one day you might

realize there is more

behind a wall of glass

you never thought to break

but by then I’ll know you well enough

to convince you it would be a mistake


there is string running

through my ears

can you see it

can you feel the tangle of

knots that bind my spirit

to this body

string that ties me

to fate

my eyes covered by

the veil but my heart

it feels every thread

rope burn on my neck

my shoulders

my back

tied too tightly to life

death seems impossible so young

just be still and listen

and hear the snap of ties ripping

one by one by one

portals would be a solution

I wish there was a way

to say I miss you from right next to you

my voice so close you can hear

the longing, my breath fanning

against your neck and

my hand inside your hair

too much longing gets lost in the distance

for the words to mean much without

you seeing my face;

that I mean it

I mean it always,

miss you whenever

I get up in the morning and have no one to talk to,

when I

go to the movies by myself

to practice being alone

when I cook too much again and

keep thinking about if you’d have liked it

when I scroll past

our chat in the phone

I miss you in the small moments like an aside

I miss you in the life events I always thought we’d share

I wish there was a way

to cross the distance daily

just to see you, at least

once per day

to fiddle with a strand of your hair

while you sleep and whisper

I miss you

in the air


your feet fly

over the stage

in the rhythm



arms linked, there is histroy here,

there            is pressure on your          toe

but               also pressure to            succeed

and                    you must believe                  you

can             or all is lost, the       rhythm

leaves no space for

weakness, formation leaves no room for doubt,

you lift your feet and twist your head to the side like there is

something there

is waiting      for your

attention                 you spin

in place              then reach

to    the            sides

as if to   drown

             in the app-                    .

lau-                .

se.          .

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