The communion of the solitary

There are crowds and crowds,
some suffocate
some breathe life,
there are peopled crowds
of routine courtesy
shrilled with people and event
silent on idea and work
words that layer like so much dust
so much grime
on the window sills of the heart
and there are hosts of birds
seagulls and shells
the roaring in of a wave
and cowering withdrawal
as though anger was knuckled
on the door of a mistaken address,
there are crowds and crowds
some suffocate, some liberate
in the one there’s solitude
and in other the community of hearts
but in one or the other
the air-less will see air-less
breathe and breathe
and solitude is bent
in the intersection of the solitary.
 
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