I’ve sought the words of love
the same way the words of hate have sought me
I’ve traipsed through this sleepless
broken city
my ears prickled in the air,
like a dog’s,
but no one speaks.
It’s song is silent, it only touches places you can’t.

Here, in these streets paved with gold,
nothing is familiar:
that is the inexhaustible miracle of
never belonging.

My voice informed for longing
speaks out into the abyss.
And through the city streets
dead of traffic and the scraping of dragged footsteps;
breathless and leafless, speaks back,
it’s silence as drawn out as a blade,
cutting and sewing,
splicing and growing,
I sit on the curb,
my sighs broken like the pavement,
Now I listen.
Now I listen


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