The sky turns its face towards me
and raises a brow in a question mark
will you know me wherever I am
and wherever you are? Without
the fingerprints of a single star?
I don’t know, I whisper. But I am
being diplomatic. The sky’s the same
everywhere. I don’t wish to hurt
any feelings. Probably meet again
unexpectedly in another city
somewhere. The smoke of evenings coils
around me upwards, the factory
whistles its workers slowly home.
Nearby a stripped tree wears nesting
sparrows like sparse winter foliage.
The shoeshine man sits at the crossroads
of darkness and cobbles the soles
of scuffed daydreams.