It happens in the jittery
rush of morning, coffee
in hand, the rapid hustle
through subway doors, or
the casual spill of papers
on a crowded street, where
the objects of our small lives
glint for a moment as they
claim their unexpected
freedom. I am standing
there, watching the dance
of wallets, keys, and receipts
tumble from hands unaware.
Excuse me, you dropped this,
I say, bending to retrieve
a fragment of someone\'s
busy life. The act so simple,
like offering a bridge back
to the stream of one\'s
purpose, as if to say,
in this hasty world, where
items fall and scatter, we
can still pause to anchor
each other, piece by lost
piece. And in that fleeting,
genuine instant, the street
seems a little less about
our solitary scrambling and
more about the language
of small restorations, the way
a shared moment can turn
ordinary asphalt into poetry.