They skulk in your shadow
on shoes covered in felt
so as not to make a single sound –
waiting –
for a crack in the pavement –
you trip – a slight twinge
dissipates –
you look up –
the sun slants the clouds,
it’s raining somewhere in the west …
but now the sun shines,
people hug walls,
hints of spring
seep from the luke warm radiance
left by the decay of winter sunrays –
you smile inwardly,
the skulkers have gone
until next time.