the slow art of breathing bitter

I Still Search For The Boy In Green Pullover

I still search for the boy in the green pullover

Amid the bustle of the busy city.

How many addresses this trash can carries,

How many tears have this road nourished,

How many wrong people did I meet,

mistaking him.

Yet I know we'd meet again at some wrong address,

Maybe after twenty years, in the same mist where he faded;

Maybe in the lonely bikeshed with you, smoking grey desires

in the same pale green pullover,

Or in the old port, where living with a huff is as aimless

as I'm now.