XV

The first night was spent in the spinning of his tale,
loss of love & a stripping of compassion from his core.

I had lived a hard winter of healing & hurt
but his hit him harder & left him far from whole.

We had played at being skeery, when we shared the streets
with kin, since then he'd built a deliberate bridge to terror.

He hadn't had an ear to listen since
long before the hurt of parting hit him.

Dangerous in the manner of a cornered animal,
tense coil of tendon straining to strike back.

His rage burned barely below the surface
& he had picked up the spear as predator.

I was scared both by & for him, knowing the cost
when a powerful heart stands dark in shadow

Two nights into my visit, I still hadn't got a word in.
Moving along the length of the Ave., in the stillness

our surroundings seemed somehow pregnant with pause,
a sinisterity supporting the sear of his rough whispers

As he had steered all conversation so he chose our course
of walking, bringing us obliquely to forest edge in the park.