You inspire me
in too many directions.
I am laughing onto pillows,
gurgling spit into screen.
Visions mangled between eyes,
quicktongued foreign gazes,
choked translations,
fingers trying to scratch past exile
rage,
do the work of diaspora.
But you insist you feel drawn to this,
find kinship and connection, bloodmemories that tell the future
as much as the past—
two strangers
not strangers
though we never knew it / only lack
was of us / ing the
we’d been dreaming / knowing
so far from my soul’s map,
I assent
feel the air around my writs and climb on:
Maybe this is a ride
back
to newness.
