You write me:
the page is a landscape -
skyscrapers jut up to
stab the horizon
and a rising sun.

Sometimes it is utopia
all blue and white space
barely punctuated
or punctuated much
too much.

I love when you write
post-modern novel-esque
slashes and dots
so heavy the earth
is scored.

So? I spread
a blanket over t's
of your country
and let your steeples
people me.

I keep a continent
in my desk drawer.
I keep it for when
you come and for
when you don't.

Copyright Cristina Cheng