I am a traveler with a suitcase full of smoke
I carry it like a house to guard my home.
I open it from time to time
to check on my friends packed ever so
I am a traveler with a suitcase full of red smoke
I spread the memories and expectations all around
like little pieces and leave lanterns
to keep the recollection alight
to keep the memory alight.
I am a motionless traveler
stuck in the past
weary by the word
chasing after the thought
My suitcase swallows the smoke
and cleans the inside
that I might see clearly
that I might understand easily.
My little house is large
with a wide-open gate and a concealed window
even the uninvited are welcomed
even the ones without a suitcase.