The commuters walk like arrows shot from a bow,
Wearing their stylish hip-length coats, perfectly groomed
They seem to be staring straight ahead, but really their eyes are locked
On some internal scene concerning the worries of the day.
I too am lost in my dream of past, present, and future
And unswerving from my path I shoulder-slam a black-jacketed
Gentleman, who doesn’t stay to hear my “pardon me.”
Overhead the unseen birds weave patterns in the sky.
I feel so small among the skyscrapers, a country mouse
Looking for nibbles and scraps under the giant’s table.
I think of the small green valley I once called home,
Where I played around the creek with the little boys,
And I think perhaps we go out too unquestioningly
From the bows that shoot us, without enough looking up
And around and to either side. Without looking back,
To the old warm friends in the golden light,
The people who made us who we are,
And who love us still, even as we are flung apart
Like droplets of water issuing from a common fountain
Sparkling in the sun, forgetful of the ocean.