To the displaced in Capitol Hill alleyways.

You: Loitering the back lot’s door,
scribbling loose-leaf notes, aloof.
I observe from on high, unnoticed:

Damp fog barely dissipating;
I wonder what waits for another
on -my- side of secure entry.

Morning routine distracted,
curiosity embraces my focus;
who is this person without key?

I duck beneath the awning…
Has my noise nearly notified?
Does my peer prick at paranoia?

Tattered clothes, dusted plastic sacks,
rusted kid’s bike, a lit cigarette
and stadium seat cushion reveal all.

You double-take as glances meet,
“What’s your business?” I probe,
the early silence cracking suddenly.

But, passive becomes active:
You take flight on Mongoose steed,
orphaning a half-full box of crayons.

On exit the blur that is you,
a confirmation of your complexity,
unrealized empathy, moment of sonder.