Warsaw at 7am

Floating in slow-motion
through the gate
and onto the damp cobblestones,
still groggy with early morning dew.

The sweet heaviness hanging
in the air is one I haven't tasted
in quite some time. How apropos.

The mist hardly reacts
to me, a seemingly solid form,
cutting through it's cloud-like
presence.

No breeze pushes,
no wind urges me-- or the mist--
to go elsewhere.

I lick my wine-stained lips
and reflect upon the impermanence
of their crimson hue; if it weren't
for that clue, I could have
easily considered last night
a dream.

I reach the intersection
of sleepy streets (I think
this is where I am supposed to catch
the cab...)
and rest upon the curb.

My barely there state of consciousness
invites an unforeseen wave
of deep, potent sentiment.
I let it move through me like
a quiet, determined storm; partly because I don't have
the energy to flick my ego on,
and partly because there's always been a side
of me that revels in such emotional intensity.

No breeze pushes,
no wind urges me
to go elsewhere.

[to be continued...]