With Love From Bangkok

The lights outside my window glow like smoldering coals cooling beneath a starless sky. Cooling before the fat red sun rises and sets fire to the city. Rises for the street vendors, for the students traveling by skytrain, for the boats carrying fragrant sacks of sour limes, spicy chillies, aromatic herbs, ambrosial flowers.

I find myself slipping into the folds of this city swiftly.

Walking from China Town to Little India, taking a ferry along the Riverfront. Sleeping child slung to my front, sweat saturating my t-shirt, weaving amongst cars, scooters, tuk-tuks, exotic faces, exotic tongues. 

I find myself slipping into the folds of this city swiftly.

With the night sky, with the rising sun, with the waking markets, with a slight bow, with pressed palms, with a prayer.