Evening Talk

Everything you didn’t understand Made you what you are. Strangers
Whose eye you caught on the street Studying you. Perhaps they were
the all-seeing Illuminati? They knew what you
didn’t, And left you troubled like a strange dream.

Not even the light stayed the same.
Where did all that hard glare come from?
And the scent, as if mythical beings Were being groomed and fed
stalks of hay On these roofs drifting among the evening clouds.

You didn’t understand a thing!
You loved the crowds at the end of the day That brought you so many
mysteries.
There was always someone you were meant to meet Who for some
reason wasn’t waiting.
Or perhaps they were? But not here, friend.

You should have crossed the street
And followed that obviously demented woman With the long streak
of blood-red hair Which the sky took up like a distant cry.