Stepping Out One Evening

A warped board on a bench seat causing discomfort to an old bum, an aching foot, a touch of pity all came to keep me self-sealed inside a bag of skin. I took no note of the river almost licking at my feet, the evening's prayerful quiet, the sky slowly switching on its nightly extravaganza of stars. I was too far into myself to see past my rim. One can get lost in a stare, that blank, formless blur reflecting the endless distances stretching across the self. I was bubbled there. Then slowly things happened, a tugboat went past, seagulls protested my presence, the smell of river mud thickened the air. I stepped out and saw an old man on a bench seat who I have long known, brushed the dandruff from his shoulders, helped him up and walked him home.