A world of solid rain out here, the subway is full and flooded, there is music in my ears as me and my umbrella wander through the falling colours and the pushing wind
Spiraling down the white tiled stairs through the white tiled labyrinth of white tiled tubes the roar of snakes under the city are filled with faces, watching the red yellow and blue panels rocking with the rhythm and climbing silently into the blinding light, they don’t mention their journey when they reach their destination
Stuck in the lift an hour the globe shinks to five people their stories and the bag of rubbish in the middle, the firemen wrench us out and we remember with fresh eyes

If you were looking back to the cookingpots in Egypt you would have an opportunity to return but instead we look on to find the altars in the desert place, to find the treasure in the sand and silence, moon and wind; we look on
Dustyfeet, there are macedonian pilgrims in the basement and fins baking carrotbread in the kitchen and hookah smoke curling to the ceiling and
new art on the walls here

We are still arriving.