every morning i walk my terrier
through a winding half-mile,
but i think he’s the one walking me:
he’s always in a sprightly haste.
i don’t know how many tail wags
i miss in between slow, drowsy blinks.
elsewhere, the earth is walking her moon,
both zipping around their own usual orbit.

in the city, the suited adults manoeuvre sidewalks,
dispensing brief greetings, sparse on chatter.
punctuality is a battle through suitcase-wielding phalanxes.
overlooking the bustling crossroads, a greyed man sits,
****** from cigar compounding existing inertia.
limbs in inactivity, mind far from monotony,
slowly drifting towards a familiar wraith
in a different hurry: the one for reunion.

i think about us and wish the same.

print advertisements glued
to poles and light fixtures,
craving for attention;
nobody looks at the sun,
but only find their way
by winding around
elongated shadows.

we converse best in the dark:
our handwriting legible without sight.
veins pulsate, nerves euphoric
with every brushing confluence;
plucking bruises that
surface like lilac blossoms
on the terra firma of skin.

cold filament passes the incumbency
of illumination to the bona fide sun.
we bear each other’s signature
into the day, together
with the last memory of
doors closing
with us on opposite sides.