no direction home

Life is rousing in the tombstone of the flats

a trinity of lights
go on

lazaruses are risen

in the light
outside

a sign-less sign
that becomes a cross
gives directions
to nowhere

latitude
cut by
l
o
n
g
d
i
t
u
d
e

on a wet hill
where the everyday pilgrims

- ignoring the signless route -

straggle
in their descent

to the day's destination
following
the busy mind