Comes at us, disguises itself in incidents
some memorable, some we try to forget,
others, too trivial to recall.
Comes at us full of strangers, so crowded
we’re pushed to the edge of the platform,
all elbows and missteps, All mumbling and
Comes at us through the mail, over the phone
full of odd voices and smudged words, full
of sound and shape without too much to hold
onto or believe in.
It comes at us, smiles, beckons, then slaps
when we reach out hoping for a break.