On The Curb

On the curb
I stood
quite late today
with two men
who weren’t quite grown up yet.
Disregarding height and vices,
I’d say we had that in common.
Wrapped into the same cape of lantern light
and also the same conversation,
we exposed ourselves as seekers,
secretly, to each other.
The secret we’re after, the three of us, is yours, you know,
but this remained wrapped into silence,
neatly,
for just another time.
And so to that we didn’t get, never did, might not ever do;
instead, we merely made it to questions—
those of the taller, the smaller, and mine.
While the first ones’ grow in bravery,
and the middle ones’ in clarity,
I shall not answer mine preemptively,
no more.
But these hopes never made it out either,
aside from into the departure,
silently,
which was swallowed by the night eventually,
and quite inevitably, too.
And in its wings we now remain
some departed, odd three figures.
But you and they and I, we know,
we’re also almost companions,
of a time and space once shared by us
and granted only by you.