The Sovereign of Streets I’ve never met man, high or low, With a heart like the cities I know. The heat of a Thai village breeze, The scent of the jungle and trees, Is a love that I’ll never let go. I dream of the Athens night air, With the dust and the ghosts in my hair. The sunrise in Siem Reap was gold, A story that never gets old, A passion no husband could share. I earn in the green of the West, Though the exchange is a bitter-pill test. With the dollar so low, And the

One day, there’s a boat on the line, A hull that is sturdy and mine. To sail through the wind and the foam, In a land that I’ve dared to call home, Where the future and water entwine.

The clogs are a charming display, In a storefront along the doorway. But those shoes, they don't bend, To a nomad, my friend, They pinch every toe in their way.

A short prose section on the psychological cost of settling down in a country that runs on spreadsheets

They banned every rocket and flare, "Professionals only" they’d swear. But from dusk until dawn, The rebellion was on, With gunsmoke and salt in the air.

aboard the Snefro Love Boat out of Sharm El Sheikh, where each morning began with sun gilding the waves and divers bustling to ready their gear. The Red Sea is a world of its own — corals blooming like underwater cathedrals, schools of fish shifting like living kaleidoscopes, the sudden flash of a curious turtle drifting by.