On summer and the waking hours

mornings awake i found myself
writing letters in the air, 
under my breath telling my secrets
to the ghosts from last year.

waiting for sunlight i’d pass the missing hours,
pointing to the ceiling and with my finger
drawing skylines and inescapable towers.

this time last year I was sleeping in Kusadasi,
and the year before that it was Venice.
Back a year and summer found me in Bangalore,
and I wonder if when I wake July is waiting for penance;
I wonder if my seasons are waiting for more.

mornings awake I found myself
writing letters to lovers whose addresses I don’t know.
Pre-dawn confusion, that moment in the 
mornings I wake, not yet knowing where I am,

I wonder if those letters to lovers
will tell me next where to go

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