the air is dense with the tears of a generation
droplets hanging from fog-coated lanterns
there are lone wolves
crawling over the wet glistening asphalt
holding on to the heartbeat of the world
with worn out claws
blunt from too many failed tries
but the beat is a failing sinus rhythm
and yet they dig their talons in
for one more beat
one more staccato
before they have to return to their dusty old homes
eluding all the shimmering puddles on the street
afraid of their own desperate reflection
tonight i linger among them
not quite wolf - yet
not fully human anymore
just a dwelling ghost
trying to make a home
in a hungry, never satisfied
homeless world
v.
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