I forgot to go to church to stutter
rote prayers or sing hail to Mary

I forgot that I like my bread
broken with butter or dipped
in seasoned oil

and no matter how much I
drink from the cup you pass
I am still thirsty

I forgot I like to smoke Marlboros
with my right hand
in thick heavy drags
while whiskey cracks ice in my left

and no matter how long I wait
for the glinting razor to cut ample white lines
I am perpetually numb

I forgot that condolences lie in the light of day
but perhaps my query comes at
a price already paid

The sky blushes
as evening breezes off the St. John’s River
through Memorial Park

A young man
chooses blue from his
bucket of chalk
and writes a poem
on the busy sidewalk

His poem
His thoughts
His words
His heart
as his signature

He gathers his bucket sullenly
without a word left

An old man stumbles by
as the sky charcoals
reads the poem
wrinkles ripple his forehead
as his eyebrows pull down
he bends to offer
an unsolicited edit
rubs one word with
his bare hand

Many pass
and read this poem
smiles slowly broaden
and eyes chuckle
as the sky turns black