I am led
along the backstreets
of this ancient city—
I peel a
feather from beneath its
history of
lost steps,
trace the
dissolving paths of
pigeons in the grey sky
above the
silhouettes of two children
weaving through
the dark world of
crinkled
trousers and scuffed shoes,
follow a
leaf as it tumbles into
the feet of
a man standing still in
the street,
his palms open, head tilted
toward the
sky, muttering in prayer.
I once
became what
I saw, what
I touched;
now,
only sometimes –
in waking
from dreams, or
when your
eyes dilate in
the faded
light –
am I stirred
into the soft
sensation of
unraveling,
of returning:
there,
in some twilight, I heed the
distant
tinkering, and begin
to walk down
to the waterfront,
toward what
you may
come to know
in me.
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