french toast.

a study of aloneness.

So far way I am from the land where I was born.

Oh land of the sun I am sighing to see you. Immense nostalgia invades my mind. 

 Aloneness comes like a leaf in the wind and from time to time. You must catch it out of the air and hold on to it like the breast of a bird or the belly of a frog. Hold it and protect it. Shelter it and let you knuckles keep it safe from the Indian Ocean wind. Say “you’re safe now” — make friends. Take it out into the evening for a can of beer and paper plate too small to fit all the spring rolls. Then tell it to look up and squint at the stars until they become fuzzy. Then reach out your hand and rub your thumb in between the eyes of the moon. Touch it, flirt with it. Smoke a cigar with your aloneness. Play with it. Take it on an eastbound train. Make the woman with the green eyes breakfast. She likes French toast, you like French toast. Your aloneness likes French toast.