traveler

I would walk away only to scatter these ashes that cling to my feet, that mingle with the dust. I would bend my bearings only to find that all the stars have strayed. The fence line and the wind break, the phone poles and the broad horizon. All these sleepless windows, lit well into the night of this next day. All these lonesome notions, walking in the dark.

The machines all scratch and clamor, the clock on the wall leaving marks in the flesh of time. Listen to the hum of glass, the pause of the open doorway. Listen to the breath wheeze, full of bolts and wire. I clear my throat, feel the weight of the empty room. Thirst and awakening, the dim residuals of spent dreams. I drink cold water from a plastic cup, the ice only a memory. I swallow the water, take on the color of unlit walls. Every hour burned through these wires. Every day another ravening of the flesh.

The sound of a spoon stirring, hot water steeping dry leaf. Sugar dissolved in heat and chemistry. Simple recipes for ancient ablutions. Steam and heat another answer for the darkened glass. Windows full of moths and shadow. The day so far from home, every comfort sized to travel. The night so resolute in may only be crossed on foot.