Home

between tall houses i see the light come and go before i reach it. like a flash it exposes the street, empty in the intermittent rain. above, the clouds keep moving, rush like unending shutters: light, dark, light, dark. i feel like i'm inside a colossal camera - the aperture the size of a gap between buildings. there - a short exposure before the rain begins again. i walk home, the image of a washed, unpeopled city burned into my eyes. i hear the wind surge into the trees like the sea plays with pebbles - giddy but sincere. birds dance in the air like nobody's watching. the picture develops with a lingering notion of something imperceptible.

There is freedom In never needing to hurry As time swiftly drains Through clamoring hands - There’s a clear window pane Within that slothful dream, A view of snow-capped hills Above fire swept plains Ruled by thirst - There is beauty Sold only On our side of the rock To the few fine royals Who have looted its soul - There are only wasted days Beyond the walls of their city And the swathe of revolt Softly seething in the dark