the streets of your town
now the shadows
moving away in the mist
: refract miss
after many grievous sore
and the pain
I take leave as nomads
shoreline land is the goal
all messy, pain, and fatigue
that would not go over
I understand now
days past
are the tops of pine on the
boulevard
brown-green leaves are small, five
foot malioboro
and the fire roasted corn bulbs in
the town square
while
flickering lamp like
sparkling gems scattered
before the evening twilight
the rest is dewy night
the rhythm gending and
mysticism the mastermind
: the streets of your town
continued etched in memory
a mist into a deep sleep
and ends with a conclusion
: I want to go home!
Asmat - Indonesia, January 11st, 1997
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