Tonight again
I will stand up and talk
emerging from my cloister
to furrowed brows and tilted heads
a new roomful gathered under the artificial lights
who have mostly grown tired of themselves
and their flimsy inheritance
I will tell my strange stories
and talk my nonsense
to nervous laughter
and curious stares
casting seed from my meager pouch
across that carpeted space
some of it will be trampled on the way out the door
and some lost among the thickly packed chairs
and some carried discreetly, carelessly to the hallway trash
and two or three kernels I will not see again
for twelve months or so
until the fragile sprout breaks the soil
stretching downward and upward
toward a home
long hidden
If you are that one
tonight I will come.
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