I remember those places I visited as a child through words I do not know. I miss my first home in the flowers that I never learnt to name. Those white petals that had bright orange stems, resembled jasmines, were strewn about the road. I know the way they smelt, and I know how they left wet patches on the soil when crushed by our car tires leaving.
Can we build ourselves a trail
Of plump clementines
Pick them up from the soil,
And eat with slippery hands,
As we walk until the sky
Has drunk the sunlight,
Tell me all the tales,
You couldn’t last time.
Yes, I look at the autumnal orange of the sky
Try to capture and recapture last evening’s purple on this day,
But when I stand at this hilltop,
Sapphire rooftops kissing the waking moon,
There is nothing more magical than blue.