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first, bundle. not longing to break free, huddled mass upon the

sidewalk. no longer able to separate himself from the blanket

that envelops him. grey body blending into grey sky, street and

I click clack by in high heels that barely skim the surface while

he breathes it with his being. cheek against the artificial stone

we created to hold us up. I see him but he only hears footsteps.

 

next, eyes emerge from layers of sandstone, crevices that

carry fire within: a dark igneous, once magma now cooled.

they peer into apprehensive air and skirt sideways. above,

furrows formed—desert slope upset only by tracks of some

prehistoric serpent.

 

but still no sign of life. only grey. a heap heavier than clouds,

right as rain, soft as sludge. I pass by again on the way home,

and he remains untouched by  the sun’s slant.  his position

steady; nothing can shake him. no more earthquakes.

such freedom. in stability. not all who are lost wander.

some settle as silt to the bottom of the riverbed, and

let the current’s gentle ebb and flow rock them to rest.

 

merrily merrily merrily merrily life is but a dream.

 

I see his eyes adjust to the light. in and out of focus—

try to find something stable. but cars blur by and

notice nothing. everything in motion. only he at rest:

a mound of rock, melded melting molded to us all.

at last a bundle.