Eyes closed, breath in gentle waves,
his hands rest on knees
raised from the sidewalk
on cement-dusted boots.
In jangles of humanness, salty and ripe,
quiet panics, sudden shouts,
heat brushes off the street in puffs—
he is cool stillness.
Wrist watches gandered and tapped,
feet click pavement, shuffle in the heat—
Detached from desire, suffering ends.
The concrete is warm, the bus has come.