my new england;
the way we remember it colored by the ease in which we can remember what it means to live in sexless seasons


The birds and I know this feeling,
an unsolicited body cue to find foreign sunshine or
change latitude in lieu of adaptation
but this is not about Paris and the way it's always hinting at a struggle
no, this is about
home

my new england! lost my mind to you, and the luxury of endless time
and the moments, flushed and throbbing, mind living for itself alone
ours was a different sort of understanding
and your texture! electric
ground that opened itself into mouths

landscapes that had a way of phrasing themselves into divine vision revelations
infinity angles and godly geometry, as if naked
a surface that gasped rock mountains, full of latent violence
and tucked itself in with waterway valleys

I wanted to tell you, as a child who has left-
I knew you, my terra love,
and with this I liberate you from specifics or the caveats of existing,
I carry you in skin

and soon, I will make a pilgrimage, and bury myself deep enough for healing