Be silent, be attentive.
Don’t ask me how I’ve been.
I’ve been nowhere.
Nowhere has watched me read thousands of pages of fan fiction,
stewing in envy of those who can summon The Will;
Nowhere has watched me go to bed at 4AM on a Sunday and fly
through the house and out of the window in three frantic
minutes the next morning; Nowhere has seen me marvel
at Banteay Srei, a trip I never told you about, where a blazing
noon and humid air startled my skin into nostalgia’s waiting grip,
caught in a slowly crumbling red world, dragons breathing white
fire, a stone bull resting on its side on a slab in the middle of it all;
most of him is long-eroded but the eyes on that invisible head
are nevertheless watchful, bewildered still by a sky of any color,
curled tail and timid hooves wary of curious hands.