August 30th, 2016

It is truly impossible to put into words what this city is and what is means to me. Perhaps the only thing I can say is that this city represents love tucked unassumingly into people, buildings, and familiar places in a small corner of southeastern Europe.

Thank you Macedonia for being my home for a month.

Every forth step is evidence
of a thing half-finished
every fifth step is paint
now un-startling and
every sixth step I am
trying to understand this
city that owes me nothing.
trying to build red
strings between each drip
of my blueberry ice cream
and her scattered popcorn.
these streets and these people
have no use for filaments
or wavering half-truths though,
it is a web that suspends
each of us as cleanly separate
as we are collective. a
web that clutches the
mormons on the old bridge
and the cigarette ashes
of booksellers next to
the river as tightly as
the gypsy boy grasps his
free cone filled with ice cream
the same flavor as mine.


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