home.

bits of life
and literature
and moments and you
clutter my mind
making my heart dizzy —
tying my throat in knots

the kind of knots that sink,
moving from my where they are born
to the pit of the stomach
where they linger too long

and then there are words
that stick to my soul
like leaves caught in the shimmer of a freshly tarred roof

— and i imagine if leaves could feel pain
they might wince first
but then,
their frame would grow used to being covered
in the thick black coating
until, one day, it would be all they knew — and without breath,
they’d remain

complacent
content
afraid they’d lose part of their delicate leafiness
if they tried to pull away

but when finally they opened their eyes
and looked — really looked

at the trees’ empty branches
and at their red and burnt orange family
blowing
setting yards on hot pink fire
with piles that dazzle
laughing children
and joggers
and the delicate hand of that watercolor artist

they’d long to return home.