The Journey II

Gone, the silence 
arrives, the sound of my 
heartbeat in the 
darkness too loud

and the voices claim me, the 
clamour and doubt, 
and you a continent 
away, strange

language and moves in 
churches and height - 
your small band 
weaving in the crowds

and there, outside is 
the day, waiting 
for my steps, the 
quotidian force

applied, and my 
desk awaits, the 
words and slight 
people whose company

I deplore yet seek. 
A Tuesday of the 
week, me in regular 
mode, you, breathing

foreign air, your eyes 
assailed by 
unfamiliar sights. 
The river of water

is restless between us, 
its flux and ride 
ruffles the way, I am 
Penelope, weaving

my day but no-one 
suits, except you - 
my chosen one 
and true.
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