nyumbani is where the moyo is and my moyo is
out travelling. Up into the wild blue yonder,
wingless, prayerful that this miracle of flight
will not end,just yet
Also at home, with you, on the ground
wherever wewe might he at the moment, grounded
like a highschooler, like a wire, a bird and a wire,
feet on the ground and my moyo in my throat now, now
in my feet, lawfully descending with gravity
to the lower, lowest, most sought after
most beautifully bound, home.
Aspirations involve reparations. We reach
for the stars wondering what we are.
But my Reason has been found
by finding wewe and looking down And it...
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