In the secret hours of my existence, I dance inside a world of words.
Every year my body ages, my mind becomes more alive and wild.
I am an ancient banyan tree,
growing in reverse toward the seed that dropped from Magdalena’s hands on her long journey to the free side.
Remembering now the counting midnights I have been through, and the shower cries that left me damp with regret.
Remembering now the soft silence that invited me into the next day promising nothing and telling me that is enough.
Remembering now the rusty bicycle, heaped over on top of itself, letting the wintery weeds devour the hope of a summer ride.
Remembering now your love, tossing pangs into my heart with the hopeful indifference of a twelve-year-old throwing petals from her does-he-love-me flower.
Now, worn by years of a crying sky, the moon acknowledges me with her silent nod and I am alive in the middle of worlds.