I-Thou

I sit

In a coffee-house

As I so often do,

Alone,

But never

Left alone

Sitting anonymously

In the warming crowd

Disappearing

In a favorite

Stuffed oversized

Chair

As if hiding

In a peaceful

Winter cloud.

I peer

Outward

Smiling

Inwardly

With my

Body tingling

In restful

Relaxation.

A man

At a small table

Sits by himself

Next to chilly

Drafty glass,

Struggling not

To cry.

Tears

Escape his eyes

As his head

Trembles,

Just a bit,

And he takes

Off his glasses,

Coughing,

Feigning,

Quite convincingly,

A cold

Or allergies

And for a few

Ephemeral seconds

I feel

What it is like

To be him –

To be

Left alone

And so,

For a moment,

I, too,

Shake

As if some kind

Of spiritual

Power surge

Flows through me,

And then,

So quickly

I am back,

Floating in peace

On the wheels

Of Cuban music.

The man coughs

Again,

This time

Even more convincingly,

But there is

Nothing to say –

Nothing to console

As I don’t

Know him

And can’t

Sustain

His hell.

I pray.

Once again

I feel the man’s

Palpitating heart

And I spiritually

Touch him

Bathing him

In pink promising light.

Now he is “OK,”

Touching his

Expertly

Styled hair

And gets lost

In turning

Newspaper pages.

For now,

He has hidden

Depression’s emptiness

And maybe,

Just maybe,

God answers prayers.