He brushed through the shortcut,
down familiar alleys, past trash cans
and men sleeping in corners.
Onto a sidewalk, weaving past suits,
hats and shoes; temporary barriers
to the right of passage.
The song of buses, cars and sirens
stir the soup of air hanging over streets.
Further but not farther the arrival is near.
A place not far but worth the challenge
of travel.
Past a park where pigeons, spinning
Frisbees and strollers create a moving
landscape.
Up ahead the destination. You’re favorite
steps and door. The place you call
your own.
Roger Singer 