The heat at the equator takes hold in your very bones
\nIt grows, insidious and wanting, in your mind like mold
\nThe dawn here does not creep cross window sills
\nOr slip in on padded feet
\nIt rushes, flows and floods in burnished tides
\nTo wrap you, sweating and restless, in its golden arms<\/p>\n
Do not count the ways this land is not your home
\nCount the drops of monsoon rain
\nThat throw themselves against the ground this time of year
\nBut do not
\nDo not count the ways this land is not your home<\/p>\n
Sometimes you forget
\nThat you once knew the lies
\nFrost writes on window panes
\nThat ten thousand miles distant
\nCount as truths
\nFor a bare moment you may not long for northern climes<\/p>\n
Do not count the days till you return
\nCount the moons that take the place of seasons
\nIn ticking off the meter of the year
\nBut do not
\nDo not count the days till you return<\/p>\n
Cold flakes of frozen rain, here they are myths
\nSpoken of only in tomes of other parallels
\nForget them like fairy tales
\nThey have no hold in antique lands
\nIn your too hot house under a too hot sun
\nWinter has no place here<\/p>\n
Do not long for placeless things
\nLong for maybe futures
\nThe flotsam and jetsam of the possible
\nBut do not
\nDo not long for placeless things<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The heat at the equator takes hold in your very bones It grows, insidious and wanting, in your mind like<\/p>\n