At the Mating

Sitting
at the table
of a foreign
and familiar city,
this place,
my home,
this foreign
and familiar house
where I live
but every night

The place
where I make
Honduran coffee
and practice
the esoteric
with nothing
more
than a pen
from my old home,
this notebook
I made a promise on,
and the promise
to a distant friend;
promised
to myself

I become
at the mating,
myself,
a person,
no longer,
an idea,
or a misconception,
a false imagining
born of a dream,
a desire,
a bottled existence,
this way of thinking,
deemed invalid,
by the din,
kindred,
myself,
I become
at the inception,
myself,
a person,
who I am