I walk through a neighborhood
I've lived by all my life and never have seen
Low sun kissing autumn leaves
the birds gaze at me overhead
As I go from house to house: no one home
All the political rhetoric, my own visions
of the future, fade as the strong
silence speaks of so many astonishingly different
lives, congregations, bubbles of authentic existence
I check another NH box, and my communist dreams shudder
I'm beginning to understand this
notion of small government, I feel
wild individualism growing like a rash
around me, smug and complacent
"Good fences make good neighbors" smiling contentedly at me
Government is now such a tiny fragment of these peoples', anyone's, life
Me, a solicitor -- a trespasser --
wading through the peace of sunset
And it's so sad; even for a romance, these days,
its health requires some rugged independence
I get home and run for my lonely, lonely life