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Mother once told me my wakefulness took
up an entire floor—that’s

why I house myself in the woods. All
the tree knows of cover is moss. All

the child in Aleppo knows of cover is run. I can’t
reconcile what’s happening in the world. Night

leavens its darkness, buried
in hypocrisy and vile

politicians. There’s a fog
catcher in Lima who brings water

to the poor. I’ve asked him
to speak to us.

https://www.sukoonmag.com/responsive/wp-content/uploads/Sukoon-Mag-Issue-9-W-2018.pdf

                    Sukoon Vol. 5 
Published inPoems

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