Sven Kretzschmar Uncompanioned, address unknown On Smithfield pavement, young and old rush into the night not extending a hundred thousand welcomes for me to follow. Unaware of the newcomer up there, they roam never on their own, don’t ask about the mystery of an air-short ribcage in the dark while I, homesick, gasping for breath, stand my ground in a hostel room facing in the mirror the face I deserve envying even a beggar for his pug companion. Evening wind takes a written scrap of paper on a walk over the kerbstone, uncompanioned by stray cats or nocturnal birds – a message delivered to no address.
7
