But that’s what imperfection gives me.
And lately, the weather has been unfair to me
than the mosquitoes in my room.
Shocking, how my body rejects what it once accepted.
This I called a reminder that I am still here,
in the old world, that this poem is a paradise,
this paradise is an imagined world in my poem,
and I live here in, that this poem is a therapy.
A wall gecko climbed my father’s hut more than
the number of falls recorded.
The truth is: for as needful as prayer is to survival,
doggedness is another quality God searches for
in his creations. Did I tell you
that for as long as this poem continues,
I’ll continue to imagine. Imagine that I find a time capsule in the backyard of my new home, I’d remember that it was written
that no resident will confess of sickness.