after Kayleb Rae Candrilli
It takes me twelve minutes
to finish deciding
what home means. The tea
rolls over my tongue like the
verdant hillside it first came from. I wonder
what my fortune would be if
a tea reader studied the leaves
burned
into the backs of my molars, and if
it would lead me somewhere else. Held by
the downy wings of the creeping sunrise,
the world blazes in the colors
of a bruise. I look behind me,
and decide that home is my wiry
shadow, always somehow behind
and around me all at once.
Comments