At Dusk

At Dusk
 
In the dimming dusk
a garland still breathes perfume,
hanging for days
around the throat of some unknown god.
 
The fragrance of its youth
still lingers.
A firefly drifts in
to settle upon
the blind god’s eyes.
 
Here in the city,
I sit among the ruins
of a nineteenth-century riverside,
where scars mark the chest
and there is no path left
to turn back upon.
 
Crowds upon crowds
have filled the way,
endless travelers
cover every trace of home.
No one knows
the address of this headless heart.
 
At the beginning of night
I find myself again,
in the soft wind that encircles,
in a body divided
from its own existence.
 
Between the thighs
no further direction is known—
does such a path still exist
upon this earth?
I do not know.
 
And so I walk
along the body’s passage,
towards the flickering dusk,
as one mind slips away,
seeking another dream.