I leave,
     early morning fog, receive my steps,
     I leave the hum of cities behind me.

I walk on the street, all its errors vibrant,
     the fluorescent streetlight casts his speeches silently onto every house; the moon's image cast, pouncing at my sight.
     Everyone underneath was sleeping, or trailing behind the sheet,
     watching the moon's brilliant attempt through the sky,
     every chariot carrying it the sunken ray from his chest.
A boy tramples past, every spoke of the bicycle tripping against the pavement.
     He wavers from every partition and every crack, his path more crooked with every second,
     he wavers from light.

The path seems longer with every reflection,
     my beginning through every dull reply, so far from here, the trail bending off into the wood,
     there was someone there, but my memory fell more ill with every minute.
     Your words may be brilliant, but you, (I'm being honest) you are awful.
We both leave quickly: the forest draws every light to itself, and, God, I hate the forest,
     every regret seemed less meaningful, the twist of her nod against my shoulder,
     I form the words for myself; I find my way to the street.
     Your seat, little boy, against the bike, your rinse of the pavement,
     the light from the windows against your back, sprinting through concrete steps,
     I nod to him silently for no acknowledgement; he stumbles towards me, blurred.
     The next street comes quickly, our sprint into waking,
     my sprint into waking up, pavement tearing down; he grabs at her chin;
     confusion, your peaks were so much higher: the lights dictate all of your words.
     Maybe when you're older, boy, they will throw themselves into your vision again,
     and your reception, grand and taunting,
     your silhouette into soil immutable,
          the trees' reminder of the moonlight, my grin caught in its jarred surprise,
          please guide my path: I'll follow,
          but you don't need to acknowledge every step.

I was back where I started,
     the light swallowed from every staring reminder gone,
     I watch the cat glide across the street, grinning at my dissonance,
          grin at my sky and brilliant clouds; they obscure little.
          Your reminding kept me on worn roads,
               dimming as you return every gift,
          as you imagine him still sitting there,
          slipping over the fences, trampling through streets behind.
          He stares at television light attacking the silent, he stares transfixed,
(I knew you before, I swear it!)
          he is still standing there.
          The streetlight flickers,
          alertness is my only gift for you,
          your passage is gone and your sleep slips whole hours away,
          I remember where I left you,
          I could turn and run,
          the motionless stance freezing my limb,
     but tomorrow will come soon,
     I need the respite. and the tear of the street against tires;
          I'll sleep the rest through.