Traveler

Old dock, silent and serene,

Filled with orange misty frost,

There I saw him, behind those anchored boats,

Wearing cassock and a hat with feather unknown,

 Barnacles die under his boots,

He seems unaware about everything,

Physical and existential,

Goes beyond and beneath,

He is lost

Yet he is in his realm,

And other end of the rail,

Here I am

Hostile to myself

Returning and departing

From what was not mine,

Oh traveler,

You and me travelling through the same evening sky

Same fog and mist,

But how different our Journeys are

Behind us, the old dock is sleeping with its warm winter night blanket

Dreaming about other night travelers…