Homeland

Our toes,
They weave
Like Per-
Sian rugs
Or coast-
ers made
In school.

You cough
And I
Am sure
I un-
Derstand.

And I am thinking
You could be my final,
Maybe be my home.

Our hands,
They search
For sil-
Ver un-
Derneath
The sur-
Face or

The brok-
En glass
Inside
The prai-
Rie soft.

And I am certain
There is not a final,
Never be a home.

- 3/20/26

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