Way Home

I dive right into the river of Babel:
my ears pick up the flow of broken syntaxes
& monosyllabic chants uttered by tired tongues.
They have awakened the child of the night.

A mass of bodies streams back and forth
within open doorways. A conflux of salt
& salutations are poured on quick-dry plates–
serve it well upon placement of stained coins.

A lonely wall, blessed by the 9PM shadow
hides a name, a number, a plea, a prayer,
& the scribbler has long been gone,
swept away by the tide of walkers.

We’re all on our way home, perhaps,
hopeful that our feet will last longer
& true. The evening’s heat fades fast;
roads collapse under the weight of solitude.


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