i was so caught up with my purpose
i missed every moment before me

my creativity is a never ending
energy source

       anytime it wavers- it must come back like a

boat out in the deep dark waters,
it must to return to shore

the power of rituals

harness me and him

into a bind

where time isn't a thing

and we suddenly become natural waves

against the outer chaos.

my imagination endlessly plays

like a old vinyl record

waiting to be felt.

soul prompts come to us

in thoughts and feelings,

we just aren't paying enough attention

listen to your sweet surrender

for there in the quiet places

you'll find your soul calling.

I stand at
the last divided capital in the world and it confuses me how the land I am from is still being owned by greed and discrimination
we sit at the cusp of the border and an elderly man sells us ice cream
I sit in your lap on the metal chairs,
admiring the history that lived before me
this man was watching knowing his life was in an echo of a torn country

complacency

he moved boxes around, cluttered in old ornaments and memory
the other side of us there were  children in a violin lesson
so unaware
of the wall
their parents wait for them in small conversations
an officer in blue parols with eyes that are hungry and glowing like a fox in the strangeness of night, preying,  feral, searching.