Dear World, how I will miss you
A poem
and hope somewhere I will secure a ringside seat to all that happens once I've returned to dust. I'll be up in the bleachers with Eve, Socrates, Mary and Paul, Hafiz, Theresa, Rumi, Dosteovsky, and John O'Donohue, planning the seating chart for my next dinner party. Eve will bring an apple for each of us to get the conversation started. I will invite my two brothers to join us so they can meet the peeps that made me the tilted one. The ones who tangled me in their heavens. I'll save seats for my daughters though hope they arrive long after dessert. Like every expat, I'll await their gifts from home—whatever sunsets and thunders, spring greens and starlit skies, or radiant dawns they can smuggle past security.




This is beautiful. I hope to crash that party one day, and all us strangers will no longer be.
Such a beautiful expression.😍