Trembling I see
those faces in the crowd
unlike some others - someone touches me -
unlike
some
others
I do like their traces melt with mine

I like their eyes and gazes meet with
hands that touch my only corners in my pockets where
their words could reach not

where no treachery could fool
my mother's, granny's, ancestreral ancestors' own tongues

Filled lungs so full with empty unsaid potentiality
for empty phrases

that I have stiched them in my pocket corners
instead of lurking between empty lines

So,
loving eyes and hands and faces
are more welcome
and more warmly are embracing
my own traces

my own traces.