So finally,
I’ve found my inner reaches,
My inner song,
And if I were to follow it to its full destination,
It would take me to Chicago,
To the middle of all the action,
To all the colors and lights,
Where the only wrong is indolence,
Where buxom young women shrug and giggle
In black t shirts,
And hostel attendants inflect and tug their “o’”s
Over the phone,
And life is breathed in
Of itself,
Each unfolding moment
Suspended in the collective patience
Of those who have braved the winters,
Braved the local news and the
Regressive caricatures,
Knowing that card in their back pocket,
The mauve splendor of a moment.