No Plans

By Ahuva Goldstand

she comes to me, stepping lightly
in between spaces, and tall buildings
sidewalk cafés leaking dirty
streams of laughter into the evening,
polluting the air

she tells me I judge too harshly

I reach to her, without a word
to brush wisps of night
from her shadowed face
as we walk, hand in hand
I, filled with her
and she- my only friend

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Filed under Issue 1, Poetry

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