On The Cusp Of Quito
Clouds roll over the hilltops.
City lights dot the valley.
The music, the traffic whistles,
the sounds of children playing,
dogs speaking between car horns,
the smells of hole in the wall cafes,
all move at a walking pace.
I am from nowhere, not here,
admiring the city lights, alone,
broke, alive, looking for something
I could never describe in a poem.