voices conjured on a quiet walk

If you happen upon a strangers hand,
Left astride it's havers hips
astride your own,
(the familiar two that belong to you)
If they find you in a brush of static
That reminds both hands
that they belong
To a working, feeling body;
If in the hustle of a cross town bustle
You catch the eye of a fellow passing-er
(Someone you've no chance to
Catch the eye of ever
everevereverever
again);
If your barking dogs take you so far
Far from the door that you call yours
That you're all the way
To the cross-town library
And a baby-girl scholar bounces past
(Book in hand and feeling grand)
To her mothers side in a rush of noise...

Smile.