Diamonds in the Fog

by Reva Zerkalo

He wades through litter, glinting gold -

in silted garbage rivers dance

discarded wrappers, tales untold.


Blind streetlights flicker, shadows prance

upon this spectral nighttime stage

where schemes and screams are left to chance.


His backpacked memories creak with age,

they stumble with him, on and on -

nomadic home of houseless sage


whose crippled spine is woebegone

with burdens of surviving life...

his antique face gleams white and wan


its wrinkles slashed with rusty knife.

A doppler wail of racing cars

arrests his trudge, announces strife.


He cranks his head towards the stars

beshrouded in fluorescent smog,

pellucid eyes that harbour scars -


discerning diamonds through the fog.

Deserted sidewalk whispers woe,

old man alone resumes his slog


to nowhere... where is there to go?

A nameless grave his only place,

no mourners but a cawing crow.


His footsteps strike without a trace,

nonentity in howling space.