In this home, in its absence, I see butterflies

Had I not seen my life this way, that I close my eyes to fear but peek between my open fingers, what else I have risked I have, for its this spirit that moves me. I feel little resistance and inertia even from those who have discouraged me. And where am I going to now? Home is a place I have carried up my sleeve. Have you seen the temple I’ve built? No country is home but every is a transit to someplace greater. Today’s D.C. is tomorrow Darfur, maybe. Home will never be the borders that define me or what a nation state has offered me in exchange for my fidelity and taxes.

But In this place, in its absence, I see many butterflies.

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