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.
How
one abandons trees and bellicose clouds,
stars and starshine
to their endurances, solitary each to each and beyond,
staid, ungiving, as

Pathetic.
We lust back.

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