Rain falls to filter my new silhouette,
as I rest on slabs of cold cracked cement.
Brotherhood now felt in a cigarette
crushed to outline the stain of my descent;
another night littered in broken glass,
saturated with old words dropped too far
to live—what do I know of happiness?
Clear, soft days spent forgetting asphalt scars,
my back supported by the bending blades
of a summer living only to breathe
life into resting lungs and the new shades
of green defeating dead sidewalks. Here, I leave
hard, melancholic paths to be broken
by a sun growing my words unspoken.
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