i want to be in the mountains,
the worn footholds & prayer,
the murmur of my ancestors
coalescing into the pitfalls of my
stitched together existence -
belong to the world
that was once theirs,
push my hand through the dense structures
of a forgotten time,
touch their faces, regal, weathered, feverish,
warm,
and remember their blood
stained their own hands,
was painted on the stiff collars
of foreign soldiers,
and runs through my veins.
