Resolution
10.12.06

Flatbread loaves rise from the pavement
with small spaces in between. Underneath,
the river-stone ribbon of Main street
(the only street) bakes, each exhalation
of midday steam telling of a homespun sun

Running away seemed such an endless tumble
of sweat and surety, so somehow
he thumbed a ride to Nowhere. There,
the beads and baubles of what he owned before
are worth less than a cigarette from
Al’s Superette, “guaranteed lowest prices anywhere”

Though his thoughts arch back on occasion
to the still-pulsing concrete city,
his feet have burrowed too deeply,
toes curling around his name and
hibernating home.

So swell beneath him, tide of the soil,
lock his eyes on to the moon
and watch him wonder at her clarity
so far from the neon lights of deflected dreams.