He looked left then
looked right –
darkness he was viewing
He walked a step
then another
he turned to face the air
His face was freckled
he was tired –
(was it youth he was missing)
Would a smile find
his mouth and sit there
inside – or share
friends – (there were
none) – yet there
were people around him
Strangers to be
sure – as imperfect
as we
Can I help you
I heard someone
say – it came as a surprise
They said it with
feeling – with
truth in their eyes
He smiled – touched
his hat and said
thank-you – I’m fine…
That moment – like
a sprinkle – (of
water) on plants
It made him bloom
made him blossom
like he’d lost his need to sigh
He walked down
the street – past
the bus-stop by the fountain
As he did so
he tipped his hat
as if saying; Good-day
How a stranger
on a corner
can determine the mood
Of an old man with
feelings that
regenerate his day
Hope speaks to us
as imperfect
as strangers
Ignoring those
right beside them
a civil foray
Is there hope
for understanding
for us finding our way?
sensualism 