Trickling onto a crumpled leaf

Comes black water, full of love and affection.

It flows from a rusty but sturdy pipe

Into the riverbeds of tenement houses.

Those people awake

And they feel a slow, sing‑song tingle down their spines.

Why is it?

A smile on their radiant faces, they know.

They are being called.

Home is their heart and they no longer need be . . .

Homesick.