The smell of the pine plus moisture,
I stop to collect myself,
Am I home?
Home is where the heart is, they say.
(No. This is just the airport.
Your smell is jumping too far ahead,
Your heart is just beating too fast,
The way you walk to the terminal)
Then maybe I should walk
Like grandma, with her lotus feet,
Or like the traffic in Manila,
It is just a trick, for this second and longest flight.
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