Glass Bones

Ebony skin hangs on 

thin glass bones.

As the boys dance

I marvel that ankles

don’t shatter.

Can I have one

copper penny is

the homeless man’s 

serenade?

And I hum louder,

walking by.

If I see poverty’s eyes

in the man…

or the glass boys

or the millions of 

starving dots…

then I am stopped

by crumbs of light.

The eyes, like

talking lights

tell me about my 

ragged poor self