Everywhere, there are strangers

Stumbling down uneven roads

Through their own misfortunes

–

Those who’ve sewn themselves shut

After years of unraveling,

Giving and giving

Until their timid and frail

–

The ones who are rebuilt  

Out of concrete and steel,

Covering up old scars,

The years of mold and neglect

–

They are the living islands   

Swarming with ghosts,

Some are spare and volcanic

Others, tranquil and green,

But all are endlessly enthralling