my dear, this is a wonder of a place.

screech your woes down from the rise and drop

of soft grass: no one will make a sound,

hillside wrapped in a stunning whirl

of glacier and camel lace.

the lakes are stained a bit black, like the drops

of charcoal bleeding from my throbbing

heart, we can stroll a lifetime, and always

find our way back – the voices of nature

linger, to catch us, lest we fall, and ruin crops.

in little huts in little streets, sit the ladies

with crystal balls. they can tell a false fortune,

so out of place! we can stroll

through the lonely streets, only so empty

during the cruel weekdays.

shops full of sacred pasts! where is the history

people have chosen not to claim? somewhere among

the smooth surface of china, I’ll say. the jewels

of this town, buried among the valves

of its heart – all a mystery.

when the time comes to sleep, let’s stay awake,

past owl light, ’til eyes water, like never before.

how can I leave this allurement

of a place? for home is only a harsh reality,

and I have been granted no break.