I have to look for the sky and streets,

those arms in slings, when an old man trying to lean in—

the railing, now huffs in black limbs

All died in the chattered gum, have you ever mistaken

your faults with frown and groans?

See and see, no but— steal a glance at the retreating

Graves! Have you walked back to stand again?

Here's the one thing that belongs— that mere

shared passing glimpse, a smile/ a frown/ a gentle shake

of hands, on and on, sitting together: perhaps we met

before in the spitting clipper blades,

now you shared an empathic ability &

I caught the sharing sails, steer straight to fetch

home, perhaps we didn't meet at all?

Stranger, friends, nothing less more than

a flesh and body, recoils in dust and flairs—

perhaps, we'll meet again.

— 11th September, 2023