Sometimes I wonder
If the tragedy of my solitude is but a mask.
In dreams I travel
Alone through sparse city streets,
Subterranean passages under the grey asphalt.
I'm just walking,
Looking for God knows what,
Maybe nothing at all,
Just walking and taking in the sights,
The faces of strangers like trees in a quiet forest.
I am lost certainly
Not at all.
George Chadderdon © 1996