The Guest

Pulled down like root, twisting
secret, I neglect the city's splendour-
sleepy cafes, gleaming streets,
young girls leaning out of
cotton-curtain balconies, watch
the children play below with stolen fruit
or marbles.  Did it rain today? I would not know,
these eyes sunk down inside their coat.

If I were guest, this riverbed would greet me,
now its body barely moving, shuts me out.
The light it needs, the whirling skylarks often feeding
from its tangled banks are missing;
what is missing stays with me.

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