Illumination

It comes to be
seen in all this travel,
this migration,
as if a shadow
falls,
and us left

to make do,
and lost circumstances.

There was a sense
of belonging
at some point
I think, but now

detached

we

float

as if drunk in all that madness.
And some say it's great,
and some say not,
but people always shadows

talk of ways to be effective,
how to make a fit,
a shape,

a shape that grows to
an unseen force -
tattooed into being

well-informed,
The same people
walk by for centuries before
we can climb again.

It passed us by.

We wanted to drive
across countries

undisturbed

stopping
off in vast open spaces,
but remain,
eating in the same Afghan cuisine,
buck-toothed and broken.

The shadow watching,
we made our way
in time it seemed okay
to dance the dance
thinking we'd made it,

an abstract thing,
abstract travel

as if under
obligation.

But people still
fought,
always on some frontier
or other
crossing boundaries,
substituting poverty
for poverty,

death for death,

and at home all
the class scribblers wrote
of obsessive love,
of chance meetings
in bars or cafes,
or even supermarkets.

But times move on
and love finds it hard,

always making the same mistakes.