The tropics was a fever, into which I birthed myself to cleanse. In it I was so awash in longing, I barely knew my own name. But I looked at the plants, for sometimes they were the only creature that knew how to seem real, and I fainted rhythmically among the dust of ancient papyrus, for they let me see the zeros and ones bleed into the sky.

All this because I knew that someday it would all become clear; yet also that for this day, I had to wait.