September 17, 2007


I walk these concrete footpaths
like a homesick tourist,
picking out street names
that remind me of you.

I walk a mile each night
only to hear Manhattan's breezes
trickle through an imported meadow
because it sounds almost
like the whisper of your hills.

I walk the vanishing streets,
searching for a harbour -
a laden vessel, masterless -
a violin, unstrung.

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