poverty, humility and potential
cling to the heavy air
and attach themselves to the delicate crevices
inside all her people

night time in southern india

at calle dinamarca #26
i wait

stale plants puddle on the unstable window ledge trying to find the october sun
some unseen motion vibrates in the half-drawn curtains

in a bare corner

the warm summer wind
brushes my hair and rustles
against the sounds of night time
the sounds of nothingness and night insects whisper in harmony

the impossible heat of the day transforms

you unravel me
and make a mess
of where i am

i wonder about life
in the capitol of the world
borders, languages and mountains that hit the sky
are between us

there are different times on strangers' watches
we unknowingly pass

fall does not exist
where i am
but i know it is near

i sense it in the soft nights
when nothing puts me to sleep

i recognize it
in my growing restlessness

that flaming red tree
did catch me and make me weep
three autumns have passed

too many miles
i rummage to find small clues
that you affect me

this country is still
uneasy about place, i
return to the map

blaring, fall arrives
the colors remain unchanged
i die in protest