Whispers seep through too thin walls,
conspire to deny repose.
Words unspoken still are heard,
disparaging the pilgrim’s journey from a darker world,
increasing isolation and his distance from a lost first love.
Dreamlike visions flash and swirl despite the brightness of the room,
conjure confusion,
obscure the light that filters through the shutters
binding him in unseen chains
forged from tattered suits and frozen phones
recalling offices above a grand line’s end.
Fears of further loss entwine with anger unprovoked
derived from painful days
and sleepless nights upon a leather couch
before a plain of warriors on horseback
and shepherds from a mountain realm.

And still She watches.
Long, crowded avenues and boulevards,
where he walked past pinnacles and urban celebrations,
narrow and become steep, winding streets as in a lonely dream
that wanes and deepens
refusing to release his spirit from its grip.
And still he walks.



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