To me, you're a foreigner,
an animal.
I'll never quite understand you,
or from where you've grown.
I'll never anticipate the limp
from your left leg,
or your sway,
or your tone.
To me, you're a vulnerable dear;
a modest, meek, mildly mischievous
stranger in the night.
But you're always here, my friend.
You're always here.

27 April '13