The Last Human Stranger

The last human stranger walked down the street
on the left side, because it was safer there.

That is, after all, where the darkness lies heavy;
like so many breathless souls being carried away by
one whose job is sometimes mistaken for a lifestyle.

She could have spoken about the sound of footfalls
between street-lamps, and the echoed names that
seemed to steer her right and then back again.

She could have been sure of her words, but they
were fishhooks set deep int her lip, always pulling
left.

Always.

All ways lead home: shipwrecked ships and unwed
sailors can confirm.

The last human stranger had everything in her hands
when all ceased to be and what might have been hung low
in the sky: ghostlike air and sightless credence.

The last human stranger had everything in her hands
and their souls lay heavy like some granitic monument
shorn from its edifice.