These thoughts of

By Karsol

A night-time’s quiet entourage;

the raindrops' patter pittered after

the traces I placed, a mirage

of my visage, a casual laughter

from passers-by too much engrossed

in love, and clothes and Broadway shows

to speak of those they love the most

and splash their shoes beside my toes.

I'm livid, I suppose;

I'd stand and tell them off my way

but that remorse should wash away

and never stay because

in their own eyes,

they passed the guy

who looked at them

and drew a sigh—

as they looked past

and sauntered on

to eat, at last,

a macaron.

That feeling stays; beyond

those steps, that rippling pace,

and my own thoughts that want its place

are drops alike, no pond the better

and I invite these thoughts of

Sonder.