The floor you walk on is smooth. There is no ground there. Magic begins with blood. Outside, there are trees, With concrete under their roots. But I have passed the tombs of kings, Regaled them with pacing, checked bins for food and wrappings. I have scoured the seas for miles, cloaked my face with ash. My fingertips opening, accepting my time. The dark cylinders of half-smoked cigarettes For me, I’m your sorrow Calling in your dreams For me, I’m your shadow Howling in the streets Tomorrow, I will walk the streets And steel myself for the familiar. Your eyes Will not settle, a hunger. You’d be happier in your grave. When we meet, share stories, you stretch me. I see, I see a semi-circle of teeth. The dark cylinders of half-smoked cigarettes For me, I’m your sorrow Calling in your dreams For me, I’m your shadow Howling in the streets