In a dream,
I sifted through the Dark,
in search of my *Yerag.
during the home stretch,
I pray for its return.
And there you all are,
armed again, with your straws and pillows,
stealing what once was mine.
Without it, broken pots stand at my feet —
they were ugly as sin,anyway. Without it,
Jhene Aiko’s “Eternal Sunshine”
plays on a loop.
Without it, at only twenty-seven,
the letters are ready.
*Armenian word for “vein”