An arm touches my back
as i hassle through traffic
i turn
and we stand still in the avalanche
and stay alone in the street
and it’s not a hand alone
it’s a part of your scent
reminding the cars and *******
to stay at home
or awake and corral in their own way and elsewhere
in a gaseous dance of steps beyond this time
we smile at disgrace
and walk back to the world
where the street has emptied itself of talk
and the day grows back our limbs.