You passed at 2:43 AM on a Saturday, alone

I'd barter anything if you sold it for tuppence

Trade wine and gold for the grime on a hull.

Barnacles for Marlin in a dusty, urban sea.

Peeked between fingers at the roundabout 

Feel the tilt of the truck under me,

And the rough denim of your pants on my fingertips

Exhale the black and mild like anathema

And floss my teeth with comiseration. 

I would sell these thoughts for a dime.

Plug it into a machine and listen to the old 45's as the room slowly empties.

Lights go off one by one 

People flocking to the side, crossing a divide you can't return from

Until I am alone in a cavern. 

The trickle of blood from your knees forms a pool. 

I kneel and wash your feet with it. 

I'd do that any day, brother, if it meant we could trade places.

And that someone knew the value you brought, somewhere with the ghosts of your friends.

I pray, I pray, I pray.