The Homeless Man in My Rearview Mirror

I drift the sea of those who offer you none.
But when i witness you being gifted
my heart soars.

Only to collapse
in regrettable relaization
that your sullen eyes
result not from donor drought,
but rather their apparent
vision impairment.
You just want to be noticed.

The pattern of desire drowned
in disappointment
at the turn of every light
does not stop you
from waving us as we swim
the same quiet and unacknowleding tide
that brought us in.

Until close enough to avoid your eyes though,
I promise I notice more than most.
Your living hands, the indebted partnership
between your exhausted shoes
and even more tired feet
for one is blood, the other skin
and together they breathe.

I promise I notice.

The lost loves that float about your head.
The hollow hope that your seeds
are watered by warm rain
and dried by smiling sun.
The incurable crave of your fingertips to touch,
your nostrils to smell the pureness you painted
the breath you created.

I promise I notice.

And after living the day in undesirable discreteness
You meet with those who live the same.
And you smile in reminiscense
and you laugh at what is, but more at what isn't.
For my eyes are driven away
by their lack of the same humility that keeps
your face on that corner.

You knew that I noticed.


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