There was noise. So much noise.

Multiple conversations occurring at once.

Street construction banging into the walls.

Bright skies with bright sun. People wearing even brighter clothing.

I tried to listen with the focus of my breath.

Myriad sounds clanging into one another.

Important words disappearing into the general roar.

Kaleidoscopic images outside the window joining the chaotic affray.

I briefly spoke then broke in frustration, fleeing to find some silent gray redoubt.

I do not have a good loud voice. My hands can randomly shake.

Sometimes I must leave. Sometimes I must be rude. Sometimes.

Alone he walks down the side of the road.

The longing he feels for his distant home enshrouds him.

We sometimes speak briefly in passing.

He settles his dark eyes and gentle attention when we talk.

I do likewise with my lighter gaze.

When we part from our brief encounter, I do so saddened.

His heart the greater part of him still beats to another rhythm.

I hope he finds his way. I fear he will travel forever.

Or at least until he can do so no more.

The circling carrion eaters will clean his bones.

I offer them mine so that he might have more time.

Twilight drifts through the bedroom window

With a wistful cast for all it is not:

Not bright daylight lit by the sun;

Not rain clouds threatening to drench all below;

Not stygian darkness preparing to showcase the stars;

Not even the overloud rumble occasioned by the passing train.

Falling so quickly it cannot choose

On which side of time to place its allegiance:

The waking hours of so varied array

Or the quieting duration of more similar miens.

Caught in this hesitation for its brief span,

It slips away before my eyes,

After murmuring almost unheard thanks,

Grateful that I had watched and noticed.