a boy

I see
a boy
sitting on a bench,
smoking,
with regret,
wondering
at the amazement
he feels
on facing disillusionment.

His eyes –
tired –
his ears,
indifferent to the music
of the cicadas,
the night washing
over him
without a flutter
and his stare
fixed on a twisted
branch,
displaced from home.

He returns
to his cave
of solitude,
back to mysterious
and wonderful
stories
from faraway,
a stranger,
wary,
worn down
by the city lights
and the clear
night sky.