He came to me
in a dusty, languid stare
and he grunted approval,
menacing and soothing
all at once.

I could not read
his expression-
it could have been both
want and hate –
but his soft thoughts
encased in hard words
melted something inside.

I am happy just to watch,
whether he moves toward or away from me,
as if he is a sun
and I am just glad
for a little warmth.

This is a morning,
new but much the same
as so many others
rich with thick syrup
on beautiful waffles.
This is a burnt sunrise
taken with hot tea
held in hands like prayer.
This is a wish for touch
lost in days zooming by
in a haze of checking clocks.
This is a morning,
meant to be forgotten
as so many others
rich with daydreams
of adventures.

The shortest season
was one of guileless joy.
Then came a stretch
of paddling through-
I was a workhorse.
Now is the season
of waiting-
there’s fear of being irrelevant
in a fast-approaching end.

Shuffling through late snow,
disheveled and dusty
after a day’s traffic,
humming to myself
a tune of moving on
from where I don’t belong
– which strikes me as funny
because I’m always moving
since I belong nowhere,
a stranger returns my smile
which is about all I can hope for.