Men absent of home
circle the fire with wide brimmed hats.
Eyes full of long roads and cold hands absorb
the heat under windless dark skies.
Somber lips release words of low tone.
Whispers merge with the snap of fire
as quiet moods settle like cold soup.
Lines of smoke and sparks rise into a silent space.
Stained buttoned up collars are the only
hugs they receive.
A train whistle stirs the boots of two men
as they break the circle.
The train moves on without waiting
as the fire remains for now.
Roger Singer 