Five Strophes

I was what your voice bumped,
what you touched while languishing
in boredom’s late gray, adjusting
camera clicks and the winter sky.

You were on the edge of nowhere,
sure of the warmth you radiate,
skilled in that deceitful dance
of murmurs, photographing sparrows.

You tumbled from taxis, skated
over silver avenues of afternoon,
crooning at me through a lens
to come closer. You were restless,

wanting art from whirls of snowy wind.
I gravitated to your certainty.
Cars whooshed by. The city honked.
Twice your cell phone rang.

So what if blindness hide truth,
the prey is foolish, the hunter
dubious? Life went on. Planets
still spun, passing multitudes.