sleepless,
I walked along a cavernous street,
noticing that one side drew me in;
the other was a flood of fluorescent lamps
and scaffolding.
I walked along an avenue that was a crepuscular fantasia
where trees curled toward the shady windowsills
the secret city:
where across the street the pilgrims mumbled their trade
in the glow of lamp-light
I walked two blocks, following the trace of branches
against the skyline. I felt intricate patterns arise
on my tongue and fingertips.
I saw so many doors. The mossy stoops.
each one was a hymn.
the secret city.
the old stories growing in damp corners.
I heard bells on the wind from far away.
these were heralds of the sprouting of the soul.
in my mind:
where the darkness congeals into dialectic,
I had built this city from dark drops of sleep.
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