Back to the City

Dog and I at the park
to escape the human.
Trees, pond, livestock
have nothing to say, as in, long ago,
I sat by a stream, needy, and
left wanting.

Most guilty of things is this: water,
with its babble default, constant change,
seeming promise.

At the park, I got so little of what I loved,
or thought to love.
And then the return: humans
in their shells on the stalled road,
on parched and littered sidewalks,
in blight of doorways, teeming

and that sensation, as on a long drive at night,
nothing familiar, ghosts of trees sighing,
blackness a hand-pitch, body barreled
into an eternity of no thing reaching,
until, finally, some outpost, even boarded,
some guarded and shameful secret,
or fast-food joint
looms our relief.
one abandons trees and bellicose clouds,
stars and starshine
to their endurances, solitary each to each and beyond,
staid, ungiving, as

We lust back.

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