Lebanon’s dreams of a homeland were fading with every rocket launch.
Warm breath in my ear mouthing a name; rivulet folded back in water.
I find lost prayers in the tiny edging around buttonholes.
The past is never done with. It begs to be fed, demands to be eaten.
Hello, women rising up against toxic men. I salute you. And I apologize.
The excursion brought shape to that entire scruff-covered summer.
I feel as if I have been struck from the book of the living.