What have we to show?
Walking home
Under the empty
Orange light of sodium street lamps
After even the stars have gone to bed
And the sidewalk slush soaks scrub hems.
Too tired to stuff speakers into our ears
As to avoid being left alone
With the siren-silence
And our thoughts.
Fresh footfalls indent the snow
Heading back the way we came.
Recall that those wet rubber soles squeaked
On the cold linoleum as if to punctuate
The pablum of our patient plan.
One of us has forgotten to wipe the blood
From the space between the treads.
Where is the purpose
We have lost in the place between
No particular morning or evening?
May we find it when again we meet
At the Intersection of Coming and Going
Of the lives that need ours most.
