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You wander, a refugee, deep in wet air in the woods Where else could you be? The rain is over and you cannot hear me walk Fed, the ground is sweet like tar and the moon folds The sun leaves you, blind I follow Trees stretch muscles of stone and rise tall and straight Softly, you remember her to be grey and blue The way the vein slips out and flops and sprays like a snake in a bath Slowly dozing Bring me back to India, where we can bathe in orange sun Drop me on the shore accidentally and wash me in silt It glitters on my skin and I feel whole You recall her face to be like a white cheese Her ribs crack orbiting health Failing, collapsing

My Heart Goes Out to You: A Trip to the 9/11 Memorial Museum Here's something oft ignored: the haunted While you with your tourism and falseness walk by the pits, you cannot know the event truly While they, the haunted, as rogue spirits, will roam for years succeeding it in desperate search of solace I did not know you, Jesus Sanchez, but you are known to my parents from a party acquaintance before my birth Your face is on a wall, now, just one of 2,977, but that's not all that's left of you Those who truly knew you will not discard you, like any strangers who see your photograph may I stood on sacred ground today Afterwards, my parents, fi