Mr. Ruhland

I rub my hands together,

Bargaining with the cold as your figure trails off.

I was not startled when the winter called

And asked how I was doing.

I ask my shadow to stay synchronized in step

As he circles around me with each passing streetlight.

You glance back at me.

“Am I keeping you guessing?”

The concrete, welcoming my feet,

Meets my eyes with a limp handshake

While my footsteps continue onward

Like whispers,

Spoken softly, chosen carefully.

Their desire is to echo swiftly onward to your ears

And rob you of contention,

Sending chills down your spine,

Post marked the gift of an unwanted stranger.

Thankfully, the wind masks their gesture

With the frost of some distant destination.

We can share the story

Before our paths let go their adjoined hands,

And I walk alone.