There’s only will, and this old man
Sitting by a drain, saying he’s sorry
Passport beside him, dressed in rags
Dregs of stories come to haunt finally
There are no time towers in cities anymore.
There’s a clock still beneath the streets.
What does a road want? A Nairobi vagrant
Scarcely ten, had once spoken to him of love
There’s only will, this old man knows
All the road wants are walkers. Stamps
Stories and emphasis are coincidental. Men are
Sorry, always, when they write the story.