Strangers are the archives of mysteries.
Sidewalk lies brand them
deep; attacked by silent
words and hard faces.
They are without council.
Stepping from the shadows
their walk
is light and careful
when in unwanted parts.
They had dreams;
stripped away after wounds,
fading in horizons of travels.
They have no apology,
though some regrets.
They are masters of street-time
and voices through backdoor
screens.
Roger Singer 