His hand is stretched to me and
People move their steps in a deaf rush around us on the streets growing towards the world’s oldest sky,
I run through their veins in aloneness, strangers’ perfection when night sets on the edges of the light he has brought for me,
It rains in skylines of solitude under our touch, all lost, wet and eternal, the offerings on his altar,
Words of lives apart, awareness and days in the sun, the offerings on mine,
then and there, for the times that had passed and none
For the ones to come.