Greyhound

Blowing thru Maine’s surprise
on a greyhound with a man
praying almost silently to friends
named Pete and Alice in Philadelphia
when we first stood together
on a corner in the cold at 2:00 A.M.
in Bangor sharing some whiskey
and the same pioneer religion
the wind splitting his face
his global shape beneath the poncho
embracing the wind and I
with the aggression of a murderer
forever repenting the smile on his face
praying almost silently to the wind
with grunts acknowledging the cold
grunts thrown out and received again
like the wind and our minds somewhere
in the middle of his going to them
and mine coming from her on a Bangor night
and Christmas time somewhere South
a day away and waiting for us both.