the sky hangs, fragrant
it has heaviness to say.
it takes a late and slow gathering storm
for me to cloak myself
before the orange.

there’s something heady, effusive
the jasmine flower
bowing over the fence
is here, almost
visiting me with its scent

and i go there
maybe i haven’t been here before
but i know it’s borderless
before everything happened
in a way that maybe could have been mine

in these passages
i am a migrant
who is neither here nor there
being is a place i leave often
where do i go?

you asked me once
about our origin story
i was never really able to tell it that way
here, now
but i know you come from a place i remember
you feel like you were once in my blood,
maybe something less true, perhaps
but still ringing, ringing, sounding softly
like a petal
crushed on my skin
I could give no answer
i just looked at the stain
the residue you left
and felt at home
is it because our ruins are so alike?


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