2.XX.09

Busdriver like the
Boatman
ferrys souls across the Styx
Seats meant for two
hold only one
--everyone alone.

Winter garb
hoods and scarves
and fingerless mittens
hide
all but a few patches of cold pale skin.
Greys and blacks and
dark navy blues
Walking funeral shrouds.

The only color of the day: a thick-skinned
blood orange
bright rind peeled back to reveal
deep purple bruised flesh
savors sweet fresh red wound:

Things that remind us we're alive.