saturday night

i roam the familiar avoiding those i should love
like i wandered through alleys in foreign cities
beyond the understanding of others i chose not to visit
in search of cloudy horizons burning with brilliance

i walk the winds of november
a few stubborn leaves still cling to ink branches
alleys that smell of last night's beer
corners reeking of urine

others dine together in restaurants along front street
where with clear plastic sheets they've cast out the weather
replaced it with music from women--
up and coming musicians or someone well known

cup of espresso gone cold in my hand
i find a sheltered moment of sun
it's caught on a wall of old brick without windows
casting a light from some other country

traffic noise pauses
the roar of distant surf
falls around corners of buildings
along paths i'm unable to follow

lingering light dwindles
i am left with the diminishing sound my of own footsteps 
wondering if they bear even a single genuine thing