The story of this poem tells itself within the poem. Makes life easier.
one of my favourite travel stories
concerns a photograph of holy water
taken after my european sojourn
framed with precise pre-digital care
a vivid purple, a pool of venal blood
the top dam at twilight, my first night back
when showing it, i told my parents it was
a lake in france — for 3 days they believed
until i caught dad looking closely
it’s not really france is it?
no, i admitted, it’s your own country
the heart of everything