Wanderlust

In the Egyptian café in London,

I drank coffee with men smoking hookah.

Draw in, breathe out.

The cup was small,

the coffee harsh. I had

to catch a train from Marble Arch.

A still point, Byzantine, one star

in a galaxy of trillions,

I had to find my friends.

Who cares what happened?

I moved like a bat, darted, skittered

towards the river. An old lady

inching towards her complex screamed

when I tried to help her with her walker.

It was my life. The rooftops fracture.

If I hadn’t jostled the mosaic

maybe I could stop the picture.

Buildings of stirred beach glass.

Cresting sunsets comb

the face, refine the land.

The world goes sad. Like now?

Like now. Even the ancients

felt slips, skips in experience

plotted as mathematical fact.