I still walk your streets
for the untended curb,
the flattened can,
the half-opened shade.
I am in the dark,
unspilled light,
uninspected.
I am caught
in the city of cautious regard.
I am not violent
but I wonder what it would take
to crack the cement
and bend the rebar
to let a man out.
These memories;
Waves that crashed,
drip by drip
collect in my hands. Unspilled,
not yet.
Everyday I see people walking on.
I walk on.
No trail in the sky.
No shadow against the Earth.
I walk on. Waiting
for these memories;
words that were stashed
to fall from my hands as rain
as heavy as ink.
People would stop,
raise their heads
to drink in my memories,
raise their glasses
to sing their own melodies.
Everyday I would see people walking on
I would walk on.
A cloud in the sky.
A part of the sea.
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