poem: steps, perhaps, a song

11 Aug

steps, perhaps, a song…

and, as we walk along,
the sky holds no moon
no sound
save for the distant coo
of Muscovy ducks
perched high
in the branches
of mangroves,
a screech owl
across a faceless breeze

little children play
on temperate streets
in New Delhi
mothers watch
in colorful saris
and chatter with friends
and aunts

gravel chuckles under footsteps
alone, you and i,
west of the river
i can hear the cry
in the back
of my head
back in the folds
where webs of memory
lead to a normal sort of madness
a simple insanity wrapped
in beige paper
bought on sale
at a store we passed by
while in
San Francisco

your sleep, so sudden
the children look up from their games
i pause, as if to reflect
but really i breath in slow,
wipe the blade
and hide it away

the Muscovy ducks
sleep, as well,
but hold different dreams
and a single set
of footsteps
lift slow
in the fading gray


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