Often in Dark Glasses

I still walk the streets of this town,
or the long, littered North End alleys
past bachelor buttons,
fence-crashing dogs,
California poppies.

Sometimes I may see you coming
my way, and we look
down discreetly.

We nod and pass, oh,
maybe some small interchange:
how’s the kid
gotta go.

Yes, the seasons and tides
still roll through us,
knock us about.
Decades compress into salt.

Our eyes and hearts
and minds astounded,
we hang in there and take
another turn of the wheel.

Hear it: