circle the view
cutting through
your barred bed-
room window reflecting
the neighbour’s television
opening to the world:
brick, cement, antenna, cloud
textures rough and brown
rusted silver linings glued
to the picture of my (i)
mage out of focus too
often taking for granted
this site/sigh/t in spite
of tear-shined lenses
transparently seeking
just(ice) an abstraction
a distraction, this moment
fading, depth receding
camera-less without a shot
in the dark i wander back
down the street, alone/within
the city, its lively ghosts,
my own
heart beating
out the smells
of smog and old rain
with the pain of hunger
and attempted flight
in vain
« return.