notes on home II

the dusty corner
where the tiny insect breathed its last
is grayishly dark
on this speckled evening
with no sound or movement in a still temporal loop
yet only a strand of cobweb
reaches gently to touch your retina
and captures a hint of your life essence

.
tonight I drank a glass of dragon water
so patiently
slowly, it reminded me
of the spreading fire
within me
will the liquid
extinguish it
or ignite it?

.
on that tearful night
I reached as deep as I could
into an empty home
tore my heart out
thin as paper
and folded the old story into a new ship
pushed it ashore

.
home dear home
the dew-kissed mirror blinds me
in the morning sun
like a delicate secret
the tranquil voice of hidden ancestors
finds me
in the earliest dawn
at your feet

.

 

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