If your borders could talk,
they would tell you the meaning
of chasing home:
distance is a figurine of faded
fingers tracing home in maps;
assurance is the breath of bombs
spread to the four winds;
holding hands is finding
the vanity of chasing home
& silence is how you learn to
let go of the bullets’ holes at home.
Finding a pillow is finding
a home in solitude. & finding
a home in solitude is finding
how graves bury memory in
the pillow of an empty city.