hang on

you have been here
before, and you will
go there again. you
are no longer
counting days, or
weeks, or even years.
everything is joined
at the hip, the knees,
the spine. the world
is one, as is each
memory gone and yet
to come. this small
room, this house,
this country where
you live is just a
stop along the way,
of waking up, of
sleeping. a port
of quiet in a larger
storm. hang on.