Reporter

These streets I have walked

Dirt gathered in my notebook

Rain, rain, the smell of smoke, smoke

Reminds me of the color of shadows

The color of mangy cats and porridge

The eyes of a stranger who smiled at me once.

They gave me stories

Pictures

Cut and paste, cut and paste

Never look

Edit

Reveal

Until the image is a crystal clear blur.

They gave me stories

But I have only one of my own.

The last words of a lonely reporter

Written here,

To read, to read, to find, to find

To bury alongside

In a quiet graveyard.

Where I will never be alone again.