Losing Self in New Beats

I miss crystal blue,
wild cries of coqui
the ocean’s breath
through palm trees,

the comfort of recognizing
once unfamiliar streets,
the warmth of sun’s glare
smoothing my skin’s tone

until locals addressed
me in their native tongue,
and the night sky’s crest
laid to rest my every fear.

Reservation disappeared
and I found the old me falling,
with ease, to minute pieces
on every corner of every street.


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