relocation

Appearing so softly upon the balcony
of mosaic that silts silently while we sip
our tea, the visions of a new
neighbourhood dig in and find
a corner in my overcrowded memory, take
a bite out of the past, shake their wet
tails, whimper and settle into a comfortable
post to watch the wanderings of
the heart.

The young woman, reminiscent of poems
read so long ago, the earliest imaginings
of otherness, scorned by pornographic
rebukes from allies, carries water
vessels back and forth, and always I sit
reading of streams of consciousness.

A mother runs upon love that her eight year-old
drops silently and unassumingly
as his training wheels carry him
over the thinly layered asphalt of our
neighbourhood.

Ah, possession, that long-sought-after
and easily-found ware, why must you turn
simple words into an affirmation of avarice?