Confucius was lonely – and in his late teens – 
this was several years after
        he saw his father crushed
        under the portcullis,
buying time for his family to escape – 
spending time at the public room at the corner
                in the mud district – 
so-called because the streets were rutted and muddy – 
and was stricken with desire.
"I do not want to go home tonight," he said, softly, to himself – 
        but a piece of the wind heard him,
        and the wind told a bird,
        who whispered it to several trees,
        who shared it with the river,
        who told the old woman
                who made tea – 
"Come, young man,
        the walls are too thin here
        for you to feel warm."
He nodded,
        and slowly went home.