Cartago

Cartago (june 4, 2009)


Through the city
I sit on the back of buses
just rhythm and tongue, rhythm and tongue

feel the bends in the earth
notice the glisten of sun and hardwork on the necks of those
who don't have faces

these busses contain stories spoken through passing conversations
don't tell me that paths don't cross.
That miracles can't open at forks in the road
perhaps the purpose of blackeyes and bruises
is for us to know that we got butterflies flying inside of us.


I close my eyes so I can feel
all of which I may never
be able to comprehend.

The moon and the mountain
the glow in the shadow
the town that can't be found on a map
the earth and it's constant rotation

and still I wonder as I sit on the back of these busses
if we are aware of what great existences we share