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  • We locked eyes once,
    In the gloaming,
    That was too dark,
    For the rather early hour.

    I was clearing the driveway of freshly fallen snow,
    That held more slush than powder,
    The kind that coagulates,
    In the deepest of boot treads,
    And with each passing step,
    Levels the sole into a bald landscape.

    He is a fixture downtown,
    More often there,
    Than here on my street,
    Even among people,
    He is always alone.

    He is not easy to watch,
    This kamikaze pedestrian,
    Never one to use sidewalks,
    Or look left then right,
    But always the first,
    To respond to oncoming cars,
    By loping into the road,
    Head erect,
    Body taut with confidence,
    Sailing over that concrete shore,
    Without so much as a crash.

    That time though,
    I think it was I who finally caught his eye,
    In my hurry to get inside,
    As I march-jogged in place,
    Stomping snow from my boots,
    With an angry red coloring,
    To my cheeks and nose,
    I must have been something to watch.

    I knew not how long he had been there,
    On the other side of the street,
    Were it not for his appearance,
    Always the same color,
    From head to toe,
    As dark during the day,
    As he is at night,
    I would not have recognized him for,
    The silent and still attitude,
    In which he stood.

    He saw me before I saw him,
    But as soon as I stopped moving,
    He started,
    Back into the black.

    Nonetheless,
    I had been acknowledged.

    But all I could wonder,
    As I watched his familiar lope,
    Was how well he could move,
    Through the soggy snow,
    And how I could not.
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