NaPoWriMo Day 22: The Word of the Day is Limen

Where Winds Hit Heavy

Where Winds Hit Heavy
There’s a theory that this town only exists
In summer, when the sun is high and bright
Tourists flocking while birds visit, shopping for trinkets
And souvenirs
As fog rolls in with the falling colors
The town fades, washed by waves into the ocean
I find myself on the limen, beyond the limits
Simmering, beneath the things I know I’m thinking
A foghorn notion, scribbled in the dark
In the cypher of sleep-fuddled senses—gone
When the morning sun turns the middle distance
Into now
I think we cry on airplanes
While watching worthless films, because
We are not—what I mean to say is
We are nothing, we are become border
The very space that calls to us
You can fall asleep in Seoul
And wake up in Seattle, only having lost
One hour
Washed up on the shores of an airport
Flotsam in the luggage carts
These are places that gather us all—
Stations and stops, gates and borders
Drawn to that subtle between
In dreams of a distant world
I honestly still wonder about my hometown. Is it fading into the mists like a modern Avalon? We just don’t know. Also, when I was little I thought the makeup company Avon and the magical island Avalon were the same thing. No wonder I was confused.

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