Shrug through that jean jacket,
plunge forward on sneaker-tips,
you’re on your way into the night;
I’m on my way into the lit den. We
pass through the same heavy door,
pause, friends?, both startled by the
seeing in our amber glossed faces,
I urge to reach out, take your fist,
kiss it. “Come warm your tattered
soul in the light, rest your weathered
hands in mine, ease the bite in your tongue…
it’s going to be alright,” I fight to breathe.
But you turn away, moving on, and so must I.