All towns are old towns
We walk around the roundabout kicking pebbles that have been places we never were
The night is young – several thousand years young – but
real-time dead stars still shine for us here. When
our hands sway in rhythm I watch all my fears disappear.
All towns are old towns, I think as I remove the skyscrapers in my head
The streets bleed neon lights from end to end
Lifetimes ago there was a farmer, here
Reaching down the ground to ask for bread;
A soldier was running, running, running.
Two lovers walking
Where our feet now pounce
This generation is ours. These streets are ours. When we laugh
we make a sound that bounces off the skyscrapers I remove
We level the ground and pass around things we keep in our pockets – old photographs, love, forgiveness-
We make our own city. Architects, engineers, no experience in building but our hands, they’re dirty hands with red streak redemption
You gave me back my poetry. Thank you for building with me.