There were differences.

There were differences.

The wavy lines,

Cracks and scrapes,

That spidered across

The old paving,

Were not unlike

The Amazon delta.

An aerial view.

He had seen so many times

In high definition,

But never quite so close,

Or from this prone position.

The silver thread,

Haphazard spread,

Of slug and snail,

Adds patination,

A glistered sheen,

To the dull grey.

A sticky residue,

That marred the skin

As he raised his head,

Veins and creases

Bleeding into concrete.

He rose from his cold sleep

A primal scream escaping,

As the last of his dream, died.

And the field

In which he ran,

With heads of golden corn

Flattened into paths,

That snaked,

From side to side,

And back again,

Circles intersecting.

A lover’s bed,

Softly merging,

With the memory

Of youth and childhood,

Slipped and slid

Into the drain.

Without a fight.

What had he become?

He needed to

Find his soul,

And purge away the pain,

After losing,

Yet again,

One more, desperate night,

To the grain.