Assurance

(after William Stafford’s Assurance)

You are always alone, you take a step,

the winter breath is not alive. Pale blue

creeps across the canvas and lights your eyes,

mocking the static noise, constant reminder of the crowd.

Names don’t matter – the smiles are nice,

sure. You each remember differently, if at all,

even walking side by side with another lonely soul,

you are alone. Rain

will fall, rainbows form in a rearview mirror, you drive by

people staring and pointing behind you

speakers thrum music and your mouth opens, singing

an empty vessel hurtling away from the colors.

Later, words will not suffice – you scream

from the bottom of your lungs, the depths of the earth

directly into an ear. Sounds are cheap, the face turns absently: you are alone.

The whole wide world pours down.