In Different Worlds

down broken streets - alone,

each not knowing our destination.

Somehow we found each other,

you asked me to walk with you.

I noticed your artist's hands

as you pointed the way,

for I was lost in worldliness.

We talked about your creativity,

my dreams of resplendence,

mansions of grandeur.

You spoke of your painting

in progress - words that brought

a vision of beauty rendered by

adept brush-wielding hands.

We stopped at a quaint café,

coffee for you, latte for me.

Across the table,

you touched my hand -

the gentleness like a brush stroke,

precise - swift - unerring.

Your eyes met mine - troubled,

forgiving, yet yielding.

Did you fear we might never be?

that our differences -

your unworldliness and lack of means

despite your talent and drive -

might not coincide.

We walked to the door,

you held me, kissed my cheek,

walked out of my life

into the gathering gray of twilight.