Shoes

by Marie Lundgren

Even though I'm too unsure
to approach you directly
my heart cries out to you.

You, the man riding past me
on your rickety bicycle
in the middle of winter
with no shoes on.

I want you to have shoes.
I want to buy you the shiniest
most comfortable shoes I can find.

How can you come to have no shoes?
What brought you to this place in your life?
Why do I hesitate to interrupt your low mutterings
and offer a willing ear?

I let you pass by
without saying a word
and now you haunt my dreams.

I feel the icy coldness of your feet
and think it must match
what appeared to be the coldness of my heart.