I traveled the world in rags made of the paper bags
of paper books I carried, sewed together from
the stories, mistakes I made in life
the iris of each eye starts the
the lines that trace across faces
of paths that people have taken
to journey and traverse broken landscapes
and strangers to bleed into memoirs
but forgetting to write in
another line in the archive of my escapades
I’ve stayed in the street corner
of the rushed world I’d long forgotten to discover
rolling cigarettes of burnt book pages
breathing in the smoke I solidified in fear of
making life real
yet through the crowds of busy vagabonds
and shuffling feet
you took a moment and
to reach out your hand and
pull me into another uncertainty
and with that single touch and smile
you saved me


2 thoughts on “sonder

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