Tremors of love through your brief, undeniable selves, . . .
- Mark Strand
You awake to unconsciousness
to the sound of trains arriving and departing:
furniture music from a far-off country -
a country you seem to remember.
You've tried to capture the language.
They have little to say.
Hiding behind text isn't the answer either.
Your words are compiled and forgotten.
You're anxious and confused,
your compass useless. Why bother?
The world of street corners expands and contracts.
Cameras continue to roll.
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| Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison |

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