Passing me by

I want to meet
a younger me,
pass me
in a crowd
maybe,
or see me
across a busy street.

Young me,
watching the people
and cars
passing by,
distracted
by a honking horn,
eyes squinting in the bright sun.

I want to yell,
“hello”
to me,
but stop, because
hello isn’t really what I want to say.

I want to say one word,
one word
to open
my eyes,
one word
to tell me, young me,
what old me has learned of life.

Or maybe a look
will do.

I am looking
at the people,
through squinting eyes
I don’t see me
across the street,
couldn’t see me
if I knew what
I was looking for.

I shiver,
like a person
has walked over
my grave
and I see me shiver
and suddenly I know
that, there are
no words,
much less
one word
that will say
what I want to say.

Words can only
destroy my innocence
and I wonder
if maybe
I did meet me
when I was young,
maybe
I did say a word
as I saw myself
squinting into the sun,
heard that word
carried on the wind
across the busy traffic lane.

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