You know how when you arrive in a place
you aren't from and it's either raining
or there's torrents of sunlight,
and the people that greet you say Oh
you've brought the { } weather with you!
And of course you're not the author
of such changes in the atmosphere,
only of the particular grammar
of the narrative you're simmering in
at any given moment. Teacup clouds
swirl or settle and you don't remember
if you're supposed to read the message
before or after you drink the liquid.
One morning you wake up thinking beauty
beauty beauty or { } while offering
a plate of inelegant flesh to the mirror.
Is it true that exiles and refugees are more
tender in the gut? You only know the bed
you were shown since your arrival. Good
utility. Working toilet. View of parking lot.

