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i think of it distantly;
sometimes
in the eye of a bird
flying overhead

think of it
like a gilt-framed painting
glancing over it as
I walk into the kitchen;
to be never experienced
but admired from afar

it is my companion
to console me
to hug me
in times where I want
and wish
to leave my whole identity
burning perpetually in the hot,
sultry dessert (desert)

all those feelings;
of shame
of hurt
of fleeing and
flapping my wings
my head
against an iron cage

have shriveled up
have died
under that burning sun

and my physical body
and that little innocence and love is left
have been
is
and will be
dancing in harmony
down the snowy streets

Canada, who I’ve already confided in

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