While drinking tea in this foreign city,
on a bar where raw fish go on a merry ride
down the sushi-go-round,
we agreed–we’re solemates:
each born with restless feet meant to ramble endlessly
Elsewhere.
Our motto being: “We’ll sleep when we’re dead!”

Walking streets, riding trams and ferries, or waiting for train rides,
we always go side-by-side
like twin satellites
(or each other’s shadow).
Nothing else exists except you, me,
this road, this city, this country.

In travel, as in everyday life, you carry everything–
my bric-a-brac: bag, brelly, camera, jacket,
first-aid and sewing kits,
self-defense accoutrements, etcetera,
while I only need to carry your hand.

How nice it is to walk this life with a friend.
A Solemate.
You saved me from the fate of walking in my own shadow–
from wandering alone.