recorridos

his goal in life was to be an echo
the type of sound that floats around and then back down
like a feather
but in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
no one could hear him
or anything

so he slept, on a mountain
in a sleeping bag underneath the stars
he would lie awake and count them
and the great fountain spray of the great Milky Way
would never let him
die alone

hummingbird, Wilco