Waits

At the corner he waits

Down the street

On the siren of the night

In the crash of sunlight

Blue the veins on the back

Of the shrunken hand

Round rough spots beneath hair

The eyes no longer stare

At anything beyond

The corner

With some last cup he waits

For the fates

With a finger cocked to mourn

Every man that’s born

While the skin of the face

Hangs in folds on folds

The mouth drips down the chin

Where a smile stern had been

Before the shadow had

The corner.

In the live mind he waits

On heart beats

With the struggle of lung

He waits until it comes

He waits until he’s gone.