Looking for you on city streets

How does a seed

starved for water & a

clear purpose shrivel

while others shine

amid adversities?

There are no answers

Only this beautiful dying

and those who go on

-Art Goodtimes

I never had

a reason before

to search the faces

of lost men

on benches—

or beneath them—

in hard places

downtown,

not for lack

of compassion

or concern, but

because I was taught

never to peer

into a neighbor’s

window.

Now I can’t stop.

I read the clues

in every heap

of man I pass—

Is that your jacket?

Your shoe?

Is that the way

your hand

once curled

under your chin

when you slept

at home

on other

mornings

in the other

world?

Would I recognize

your eyes among

the many?