Steam from my coffee cup

becomes one with that above subway gratings.

Pounding the concrete and metal links,

herd-walkers brush by,

perhaps the solo touch they will have that day,

seeing only clothes and shoes,

except the accosters,

hitting them up for something

that makes eye contact unavoidable.

Eyes tearing up,

smelling the exhaust,

breathing the taste of pollution,

urban scratchy cough ubiquitous,

sight obscured in fog-like smog.

But how that light through gray

beams down when it feels like it.

“Have you seen it?” A voice asks.

Their heads turn up

like crated pigs seeing the sky for the first time.

Hope was always there.

Warm-blooded life was all around,

there for the engagement.