of course you will hurt me.

when i am sitting alone in the quiet
and thinking of the times i have bared my soul
i know there was never a question.

you have your own bones, and lungs and heartbeat.
you have your own ideas about love. about life.
while i am "getting by"
so are you.

the bus station is empty
except for a homeless bag lady,
a mother and her child.

the janitor sweeps yesterday's dreams
from the worn floor.

the mother moves to a corner.
her son a shadow always at her side.
sad eyes needs someplace to go.

the bag lady moves to the corner.
she says something to the woman and her son.
I can not hear but
the mother smiles and the boy laughs
and they appear happy
long after the bag lady
has gone to talk to the lonely janitor.

she touches his shoulder.
he turns, nods and smiles.
and she is Jesus
creating small miracles
and harming no one.

in the shush of the brooms sweep,
the sun rises.
the birds are singing.
she moves into the flow of her heaven