Everyone is seemingly familiar, even the sweet goats in the streets.
Here they roam as living beings amongst the small crowds,
unlike the pets I once sheltered.
Haven’t I ridden a ferry watching cargo ships pushed along by tug boats to port?
I know the smell of burning leaves and trash in piles on the curb and these faces on the road.
Eyes reveal a home across cultures.
Anticipation of disparity learned through a gentle point of entry.
There is a comfortable kindness that continues to settle
as the friend is within reach.
I have been here before.
A recall of laziness founded by a previous tropical haze.
In this place of past, separation by my own mind becomes more obvious.
Long ago I knew this woman so languid, so lovely.
I still adore her.
She was not so much forgotten, though the interlude of her appearance was long in duration.
Brilliant architecture of windows and doors frame greenery
amazingly appreciable.
Each detail attractive to my whole body.
Amidst the beauty and the colors there are pauses
for waking up to a certainty I might otherwise doubt.
I am awed.
I am humbled in this receiving.
To remember is becoming a moment to moment craft of every sense.
I have been here before.