For a moment ,
On a street I stopped to help a beggar.
The years on his face rested like tired eyes on still water
While lines of loneliness lifted temples.
Inside he was silent,
We did not exchange words,
As if we defended our own individual darkness.
I bent forward toward him
Dropped a coin into cupped hands
That had worked fields for many seasons.
I lifted myself,
Turned to leave.
I was met by hostile eyes of a well dressed passer by.
I denied him pleasure,
carried only the statue stares of a beggar
And comfort that I knew who I was.