Kismet

Standard

Along mysterious sidewalks
and down unknown streets
A chilled wind blows
but does not spurn
Skyward domes blend
into looming gray clouds
Raindrops trickle from
gas lamps and gutters
Blurred faces reflect in
the pale sheen of puddles
Strangers for now
kindred spirits to be
Perchance we meet
and find our peace

c.b. 2011

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