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A little bit of loneliness settled into me
From a trip I took downtown.
Even the safe posts to which I return,
My home, the things I know,
Have a sense of unfamiliarity.

A little of the silence I heard outside
In the trip’s aftermath still remains to reside
And when I speak now the sound of my voice
Jars out in the living room like foreign noise.

The quiet night, the lights wrapped around
Wooden porches, make the surrounding space darker,
Harder to see; December lights
In a cold lonely quiet yet quaint, flavored night.
It seeps into me, this moment’s taste,
Through my skin to my muscles and bones and still deeper.
Cobblestone streets, an old ornate church
Muted by shadows of traffic-lit trees.
There is no one around, save a few single bodies
Making their way to their cars (I think),
Turning in for the night, passing closed cafes
That line the streets like streams intertwining.
The beauty of the interplay of every detail,
The space between lines, between the cars of the light rail
Hold the world in a delicate balance,
Mirroring the stars’ (we can’t see from here) dance.

Every tiny thing I do sense
Settles inside me with permanence.
And I become built from the little pieces
Of each new impression I intercept.
And I wonder now, if it’s not a one-way attack –
Maybe, conversely, the well shivers when I stare back.

Now, though I’m home, in part behind I remain.
Inside I’m still traveling on the train.

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