by Abraham M. de la Torre
It has been oft repeated that the world
in its immensity can be an orb
so wee we, in our wildest circumstance,
cannot believe it possible as chance
to make our journeying alone become
companioned. You walk alit with thoughts of
bonding with whom used to be faces one
dismisses as a crowd disposes lost
until you find their simple difference
entirely different and similar
to yours. You sigh. And smile. And soon accept
there is no other measure of success
than seeing Jesus on the face of your
equivalent of grace. That man was blessed
with. You turn and, turning, find another
one like it. Aglow with just the finding
of a fellow traveler traversing
a familiar street albeit coursing
towards different however kindred
places. He is running late, you’re early
yet so let him go, proceed, reminded
that he didn’t make it when what ended
late usurped the time he had accepted
as concession to a company of bread
and joyful liquid. Separated,
you are buoyed by bouncing pieces knowing
that his occupation is another
kind of peace. Separate and never is.