There is an hourglass on the table – all the sand has sifted through. There are leaves on the sidewalk – leaves once green and moist – now faded and cracked dry. There is an old lady crossing the street – walker in her hands as a young mother races by pushing a stroller in her hands. 

I walk through the streets of Brooklyn, Ipod providing the soundtrack which right now is Bob Dylan’s new collection of songs called “The Tempest.” I have my hood on as the drizzle and the street lamps bring sparkle to pavement – making all that is dirty look like diamonds spread out like sand. 

I hear a dog bark at another dog – a siren screams by as the light turns red. 


I hear the old man Dylan sing; “Jim Backus smiled/He never learned to swim/Saw the little crippled child/And he gave his seat to him.  He saw the starlight shining/streaming from the East/Death was on the rampage/But his heart was now at peace”

I cross the street and walk across the park. A group of Asian ladies are stretching – I wave to them and they wave back with a smile.Giant trees surround this rectangular concrete park – like sentinels keeping watch.

I cross the street again and I find myself facing a cold wind – I thought about these past two months and the tragedies. How can we ever understand why bad things happen?

They waited at the landing/And they tried to understand/But there is no understanding/For the judgment of God’s hand

I see an elderly couple, walking hand in hand, slowly taking their time. A young man driving a car – seemingly in a rush to get somewhere – right hand constantly on the horn – frustrated that he cannot move as fast as he wants to. Obstacles on the road no getting around. He drops his shoulders in defeat and looks the other way. 

The F-train booms across the tracks atop the elevated platform on McDonald Avenue – finally stopping to pick up its travelers. Its opposite companion roars passed it heading in the opposite direction punches a quick honk and a wave. Pigeons jump up as if to avoid something and an old man makes his way, slowly up the stairs to the platform as younger versions of himself race up the stairs to pass him. As my Ipod keeps on broadcasting Dylan’s ode to his friend. 

“Slow down you’re moving way too fast/Come together right now over me/Your bones are weary, you’re about to breathe your last/Lord, you know how hard that it can be/Roll on John through the rain and snow…”

I turn around and walk down the stairs – I look at my phone and text my love that I am coming home – coming home. Forgetting why I left in the first place and got caught up in this motion of poetry and song.  I stop to listen to the end of this song – 

I’m staying up late, I’m making amends/While we smile, all heaven descends/If love is a sin, then beauty is a crime/All things are beautiful in their time/The black and the white/the yellow and the brown/It’s all right there in front of you…in Scarlet Town