It’s my Move
warm is a warning, heat requires commitment
a gentle slide to summer or a vigorous descent
to be swift but still visible
head shake as if an illusion
just enough dots to fill in
from familiarity, from a random whim
like a roving restaurant it takes several tries to find
neither the pacific or the cascades will get any closer
to turn my yard into a green sphere of fresh oxygen
will take several years, a couple improbabilities
or to suddenly forget English and be a tourist
with the wrong kind of visa, every exchange in currency
takes away a future meal, my clothes blend in
but my body doesn’t
to vacate, evacuate, not be from here
not know my way around, a kitchen with
two pans, two pots and a kettle, stores with higher prices
and unknown brands—not how far I travel
but how long it takes to get here where time’s changed
not hours but years and textures, chrono-dynamics
as if i’ll be back here in 20, as if someone i know
swam here as a kid
maybe next trip i’ll leave myself behind
take clothes i’ve never worn before, act like
i have more money and fewer fears
or maybe i can rent my own house for a week
and see what I’ve never seen, miss
what I’ve never had, hear what this place
says (or won’t say) about its usual parasite
dan raphael