Staring out
a thousand eyeless windows.
Each light a soul
and every cluster
a creation.
Hard concrete skins,
steel steam pipe vessels,
and an appetite
that never ceases to feed,
or fight, or fuck.
There is no starlight
where the streetlight glow.
The bright moon,
displaced by lit neon
and kaleidoscopic billboards.
Moving through this place
gives the feeling of being
all at once,
anonymous and exposed.
But every city
has a boundary.
Like the edge
of an old scar,
where damaged tissue
touches new, virgin skin,
yet unmolested
by designers.
Out there,
the roots run deep,
and there is warm light,
rather than cold indifference.
The street lights
are replaced with stars,
and the endless warren
of roads, windows,
and doors that lead nowhere
is absent.
Everything exists
in every direction.
The sun,
the moon,
the stars,
plain in a vivid sky.
Out here,
the light seem to hold
more purchase on existence
than those thousands
of dead, city eyes
that stare out at the night.
There is something to be said
for roots and boundaries.
It seems healthful
that one should have both.
DJR – 2023
