The street is the most private place in the world.

Try it now:

Put your head between your hands

And loudly sigh;

The street is the most private place in the world.

Let out a sob,

Turn it into a moan:

Feel no eyes turned,

No hands upon your shoulders;

The street is the most private place in the world.

Try a wail;

No?

Maybe a howl.

Fall to your knees;

Give them a show!

Wail to god above and the devil below:

The street is the most private place in the world.

 

Turquoise and cerulean

Lapis lazuli and Prussian blue

The breath and gurgle of this royal beast.

It speaks into me

And I feel my blood match its hue

My voice, its timbre.

I dissolve into it

Or perhaps it dissolves into me.

I will ever be apart of this unity

Though it will ever be a part of me.

I have found a twin soul,

A solitude to match my own.

An immersive intimacy beyond the shores I call home.

Then, as my ancestors before me,

I return to the land

Partly lost, partly at ease.

The air fills me, familiar as a distant memory;

My blood crimson once more.

Already, looking back, I see danger,

The fear of being dashed against the rocks,

This vein of scarlet a reminder of my true heritage.

But I quiet my mind

And hear the echo in my soul.

The rocks be damned;

This is my home.