when I walk through your neighborhood,
I hold all of my bones in my pockets.
it is difficult to move, let alone
step over all those cracks in the sidewalk.
I think about how many backs I’ve broken
and imagine that these train tracks
that rumble above the street are vertebrae.
A bone bridge to the next rambling intersection.
I stare into the eyes of someone who is not you.
I feel nothing. We are lit matches.