Acer Sacharrum

Familiar is this earthly language, these archives full to the brim. 
It must be how the world got magic, these rhymes of life and limb. 

how did words once flow

like water

from my mind?

fresh out of the plane,

weary eyed and sickly pale, 

I trudge.

deep within my suitcase, I carry a passport I don't want to show to anyone, 

even if they ask for ID.