Illuminated liquid concrete

We sat backs pressed against the riverbank
and watched as leaves set sail,
and Fall fell like a tidal wave of sleep.
All three looked at me,
soiled clothes and the rugged smell of it all.
We vagrants call the cornfield home
as the subway
as the mission
as the afternoon dunes
as the illuminated liquid concrete
and the throes of death
and the supernova skies
and the bleating calls.
Though the shores never rose
or flooded with the changing shape of it all.
So we took to our feet as the sky opened wide
and spat out a new day to transform our trails.
The brush made welcome these calloused feet,
and long nails and beards and etched smile-lines.
Those things that precede our procession, each faltering town.
We blend in and admire the life in it all
before flickering by in the night,
that candle--
that sometimes-wish you had never blown it out,
where the smoke can only say so much
and the blur of the water is neither happy nor sad.
We'll wander the river's bank on and on,
through it all.