by Sylvia Stout
i was found.
once the hands on the clock spun off
time was another man’s concern
in the still sweat of the day,
the heat of our sun was extinguished
not a moment before we burst into flame
clouds rolled in, heavy on the horizon…
rain drove droplets into the concrete
like nails into love’s coffin
the heat caused steam to rise like fog,
flowing down these sullen city streets
sweeping our sin downstream
a river of mistakes, emptying itself into the mouths of gutters
until those gutters sputtered and choked
like so many this tide had touched before
i followed it, lost without it
a word with no meaning
a singer with no song
without my sin, what will define me?
my yesterdays ran from me, and I chased that wave
passing tomorrow’s without a second glance
where is my compass? but– i was found!
the soles of my feet bled through to the souls of my beat;
each step leading me further from found and closer to lost
each step drumming a metronome to tap the rhythm of my map…
even when you’re lost, you’re somewhere.
before I knew it, i was there.
our lies found stagnant in the bellies of sewers after the storm
full of wicked, but they lay perfectly still
forced to hear a truth that would unravel them.
we only live until we die.
Then we are free.
Then we are found.