Scarce is the driving rhythm,

The eyes lost in a trance,

The nagging hunger

To repair and replenish

–

It’s a luxury to roam

The inner worlds of another,

To know the warmth of their sun

To know the depths of their winters

–

These delights are in hiding

From our violence and vices

In the vacant spaces

That thrive with no name

–

Off the radar

But not far

From our routine madness,

Among the friends we’ve misplaced

Within the refuge we’ve hollowed