A blind man folds his cane and boards the bus.I ask where he’s going. We talk.He’s Albanian by way of London, now living in Italy.One eye…
Your eyeskindled with fierce awarenessnaked vulnerabilityand a stillness that softens…
I’d put the pockmarks
Really imagined
You’re too far
I won’t own you, though I do owe you
“Bridge’s out,”
A boy in a blue scarf shouted.