wednesday, august 10

i sometimes feel like i'm living a
parallel life in my dreams

again and again
i walk cities not quite the same as
anywhere and the same as a hundred
places, through strange-familiar
streets past blocks of half-known buildings

and talk in houses gone now for years
with distant friends, with the dead,
with people i haven't seen
since i myself was some other person

and riding the trains and backroads of
continents all but entirely unreal
a geography echoing geography

i find the patterns of my homes,
the ones i have
and have lost
and may yet find