Darian

It's Darian on the corner of Abilene and 8th For what must be the eleventh or the twelfth year straight He's bent beneath the awning with a bottle in the rain He ain't asking for your money, it'd just make him feel ashamed He's looking for a home in a hundred hurried hands That pass his weary body by without a second glance And he feels the tears falling from a father unseen Who's looking down in sorrow but he doesn't intervene Darian lifts his eyes to the wind swept streets As the figures hurry by with a chatter in their teeth The last witness of what happened in this place And he tries to tell them all but they never slow their pace He tells them about the voices, he tells them about the sound And how there used to be a quarry at the edges of this town And he tells them about the people, some alive and some gone The pale-skinned poet with bruises on her arms Who made a path for herself from those that did her harm Darian falls silent and curses the cold His stomach is empty and the shelters are full He holds a heavy breath as the rain turns to snow Just staving off death- a couple days or so He's waiting there for something that he can't quite explain An answer to a question he could never really name Just something he can grab as he collapses to the floor Maybe make amends with the friends he doesn't speak to anymore And as he loosens up his grip And as the bottle empties out And the darkness closes in And the wine stains the ground He can feel himself lifted Above the alleys and the towns And to whoever will hear He finds the words that he's tried to say for years --- Darian - David Wirsig