This morning I tell myself:
you don’t have to wish. Just notice.
There is the window I tried to seal with rags:
double glazing, warped metal frame.
There is the air purifier my housemate,
real name Song, helped me buy online.
There is the table: spider plant I’m watering,
desert dirt in a plastic pot.
There is the living-room wall: flower tapestry,
map of the ‘Republic’, red star, circumscribed territories.
There is the tiled floor,
warm under my feet where the pipes go.
Here are the membranes in my nose:
smell of burnt petroleum. Don’t wish.
Yínchuān, China, February 2019
First published in Tarot 11, December 2025
