A Merry Migrant
Another day without a hut or herbage
The rise of dawn unwinds my bodily clock
As I uncoil from my dormant crescent form
A shiver trickles down from my neck
To the very edges of the bones of my hips
My cloth drifts with the currents of the brisk winds
The dynamic sound of cars in line
Behind the delayed traffic
I inhale the air. Internalize it. Release it.
The bitter, burning scent of cigarettes
Pervades my nasal infrastructures
I begin walking.
And walking... And walking...
Pursuing the light of the day from east to west.
The horizon unveils its hood,
Displaying Dusk’s finest hairs, then Night’s.
What more is to become of the day?
The repetition of yesterday?
The expectancy of tomorrow?
I lay down once more
In a narrow alley
Between two beige brick buildings.
A roof with a cracked opening
Provides me a line of shining sight
The sky glistens its dark luster
As I find refuge among the stars.