when i had circled the sun
almost thirty times
i traveled with my angel to places
across the sea that i learned of
when i was a boy

ever so slightly
i pushed my mark into
those ancient steps
like so many children playing with clay

we spend our lives shouting to the pigeons:

“i was here”
“i have crossed your streets and clicked in your shuttered terraces”

we spend our lives writing our epitaphs