sad enough to last 3 summers
i met at man under the moon
on Sunday.
by way of saying
nothing he
smiled(but
just by the dirty collar of his
jacket were two glued uncarefully ears
in
that face a box of
skin lay eyes like
new tools)
whence i guessed that he also had climbed the pincian
to appreciate rome at nightfall;and because against this
wall his white sincere small
hands with their guessing fingers
did-not-move exquisitely
,like dead children
(if he had been playing a fiddle i had
been dancing:which is
why something about me reminded him of ourselves)
as Nobody came slowly over the town
-e. e. cummings