[Poem] Mon

When I go to sleep there is a distant city for a nation,
And in that city a street at night, fragrant as a frangipani.
On that street there is a house, there is a room, there is a pillow,
Soft and welcoming like a strong woman‟s smile
Who reminds me of everything a world is supposed to be,
One dream at a time, where I want to whisper, a phoenix,
“I don‟t want to be a stranger,” but I barely have the words.