air

you call me restless
i say i’m searching.

i met a monk who only
meditated metaphorically.

you ask why i travel
i say i’m going home.

i met a man behind a mask;
his face was flawless.
i asked him why.
he said, what mask?

i offer a prayer in the waiting rooms
the halls of the gods of purgatory.

i met a child who offered
the season’s first mango
palmed in his small hand.

i have no country.
i am already home.

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About ky

Poet. Photographer. Writer. Goddess. View all posts by ky

9 responses to “air

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