the long day

with the bagged bottle,
the amber liquid glassed
in the chip
of sunlight
that creases
between
buildings, near
the fountain where he sits,
he raises it
to his lips,
accepting communion,
closing his eyes with
the harsh swallow.
does he remember
childhood.
does he
include anyone in his
despair
to sort out
how it's come to this.
a long
day waiting for
the sun to climb higher
to warm him
in his stitched again
clothes, another
change of season
pulling at his beard.
it's easy for anyone
to give him money,
how can they pass and not,
believing it could
be them, not him,
one day.