Warm sticky fingers shower
spaulders on the darkened sidewalk.
I stoop to shove the
greaves and gauntlets into
pockets and plastic bags that
overflow with forbidden fare.
We walk miles, measured only by
the sound of sneakers slapping.
The breath of Boreas
snatches the sombrero
all midnight lace and impossible velvet
and tosses it into the coming
Image attributed to https://www.flickr.com/photos/wlscience/