Hey, sup? Shadowed by a name, while trotting

on by, in a courtyard, down a hallway;

passing by someone. It’s a saluting 

sailor or the tipping of a beret. 

It’s over in a heartbeat, but what if

there’s no reciprocation? Say I hold 

my horses, give you the reins, hands stay stiff. 

My eyes look away, as if I behold

Medusa. My tongue ties into a bow

when I encounter you, but don’t I bear

a burning passion to proclaim hello?  

The boat does not rock, there is no affair.  

When the day is done, is it set in stone?

Doesn’t everyone deserve to be known?