I hold walking a blind man across the street
and letting pen and paper meet in the middle of the same bar
after thirty days of limited communication
on an even pair of shoulders.
Brushing blush painted hands
down a body you've never seen in daylight
through a familiar dilation of pupils
but still a body you've seen with your fingertips
feigned with your mouth agape
as you've counted how many light-bulbs it would take
to fix every burnt out barbed wire
strung hair like fairy lights
across the least visited
lonely patches of human existence.
The starving man hand in hand with
each naked pedestrian
in a field made of all the synonyms
that have baked within your flesh
skipping across it
like dead bodies
cannot possibly ruin.