He says the cows are laying in the pasture,
a sure sign of rain.
Cicadas are singing a song so natural,
the brief moments of silence
***** my senses.
I push off the warm concrete with my bare feet,
setting myself in soft motion.
Warm wind brushes against the layer of sweat
collecting on my face.
Across the street, yellow giants tower,
swaying a hello,
their necks craned to the sun.
I feel a velvety snuggle brush against my leg-
I watch the porch tiger
slink past to
retire to the house.
I follow.
Onto the cold leather sofa I think about
childhood-
with lemonade, and pool days that drift into pool nights,
soaking the energy right out of my bones,
leaving me wrinkled and properly exhausted.
I close my eyes,
I dream of the june bugs,
bouncing into one another,
bumbling through the tall green grass.
They invite me to follow.
I do.

Hop on your motorbike and buy me some smokes,
skinny cigarettes cost 45 cents.
Grungy green, lawless supreme, with delicate golden trim.
Youths full of dreams,
occupy decaying castles,
with marble staircases,
and cobwebs on the ceiling-
I get the feeling-
It will fade with my memory.
This place, that is-
as it is.
It's own special rhythm,
drowned out,
by the capitalist drum.
** Hum Hanoi.

I daydreamed the places I'd go,
the sights I'd see-  
but no one told me the people I'd be.
How the things I’d know-
would shake,
shatter,
and mold.
That I could be,
more than one me.
Philosophy I'd held as identity,
could be ransacked &
turned to
something raw and tender.
I'd defy attributes
  so vehemently considered my nature, and
the relationships I'd make would become like a mirror.
I pictured the planes, trains, and cars-
but not the fractals of my heart
they would continually move,
yet, frozen in history.
I believe,
among all these,
there is one me-
but a me,
that only exists in this moment of time,
being defined,
by those places and people and experiences combined-
and in every passing moment-
I'm leaving her behind!
That girl, in that place, with those people, and that time.