Flat on a Spirit Board

My father left me

a name,

so the whole village would love me.

    He left

    a village flat on a spirit board

    for my fingers to rove the

       L. 

                  O.

                           V.

                                   E’s.

My love texts from Cairo, he says, us is a risky bid

                           & I just touched down in New York City.

I lie flat like a village,

       in this cold

       in this coat heavy 

with coins in every foreign currency. 

                              Don’t you know,         

my love, this loss,         

an end wide rimmed        

& you will never know all my name     

                                         that all peace treaties        

                                             ever did was deny        

                          the life that wholes me.         

These boots smell of time zones, though tonight they reek of random checks,

                                                                                    alleged threats of 

                                                                               me and my mobility. 

I text from London  Beirut  Limassol

but the love’s gone rogue

it strays    it walls   it just won’t connect me.