I wrote this a few weeks ago...

...in Korea, when I thought for certain that everything was going to fall apart.

*
What does longing subsist on if not morose midnight thoughts?
words that start with H
hot, hate, hollow
fester the mind with the anticipation of pain.

The longing feasts on swells of the heart and head
and heels as they touch down on pavement seeking remedy,
not of the pharmaceutical kind, but those that coincide
with contact.

Strangers are the only ones awake, though
and their idea of contact is collision:
a shoulder smashed against another
or the outcome of a door not patiently held.

Legs continue on their aimless path
until unfamiliar terrain absolves the world of unknown persons
and presents desolation so immense that the
world's inevitable end seems to have started.

Discomfort drags a heavy body home
to the same hunger-pained longing whose growling insides
remain insatiable

But whose moans are easily replaced by the sounds
of sanctified melodies repeated like a rosary,
over and over...