Maybe it shouldn't surprise you, the sudden pinch of too much
busyness. The way even a boozy night at the local bar elbows you
with its sharp angles, or the tinny echo certain conversations carry,
obliterating your new greed - or is it, simply, hunger - for quiet.
Your body keeps squaring itself to the tuneless, forgotten landscapes
just under your feet, where others' casual leavings and discards form
another kind of path - a winding wreckage of rejected pens and green straws,
shopping lists and the plastic seals of water bottles leading you to a single,
cherry red Lifesaver dropped, perhaps, neither in disfavor or disgust,
but a sign just for you, a breadcrumb pointing toward sweetness.