There is a City beneath the city I walk on, and a city
before that, lined with the footprints of people who have walked here before me,
after me, and more after that, this city I walk on is not the city I have
walked through before, though I scrounge to find clues to which city I belong,
the haunting of past pokes through the fabric of the present, just enough, a
presence to recall where I once trampled, and perhaps can trample again, that
old store, new when last I wandered here, even an older store old then I was
new, this endless parade of what was and what will be, with me caught in the
gaps, staggering, struggling to know to which I belong
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