I hear the muffled turn of phrase
Like you have your mouth full of moths
Or your throat stuffed with a rose
You ask if there is any desire for the old city
There will be no death for me
I can not be stilled like the post storm dawn
Before I leave for the what was once my family's home
The embers glowing like apologetic demons
Slowly dying and cooling to the temperature
Of the room that surrounds us
Your room
Your home
I catch the splinters on the arm rest
I rub my forehead that helmets no headache
I am looking for distraction
At this thought of finding my way back home
Where boys swim naked
And the water dries on their shoulders
like wine on tiles
And grass grows tall beneath the elms
The heat is rich and the shade is cool
Old ladies cook the same recipes their grandmothers cooked
And there is a magic song that is sung
When the sun is setting that no one forgets
And you ask if I want to return
And I wonder if
a heart can not belong to a land and a man all at once...

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