At nine o'clock at night

In a small rectangle on the side of the oldest building

A slice of light yellowish orange

Making the concrete bricks look golden and alive

As I look around it is dark

Except for the street lamps and car lights

Which all seem foreign and distant from where I am

A man walks toward me and as I look up I smile

He looks away and walks closer carrying his life in his pockets

And a small garbage bag in his left hand

I look at my shoes for a moment

Hoping he doesn't speak to me

When I look up again I see him

Bent over to pick up a nickle and the remains of a cigarette

He looks so happy at the moment

Child like

A lady running to catch the bus drops a small green card from her pocket

I pick it up and follow her on to the bus to return it

She thanks me as I go into the shelter to check the bus schedule

It will be here in fifteen minutes. Unless today is Sunday

From where I am standing I cannot see the light

Afraid to see that it is gone

Vanished into the darkness because the sun has set

No one was there to see it go

I step forward slowly looking up

Finally, smaller and fading, but still just as bright

It is focusing on one little window

I wonder what the people in that room see

When they look at me

My hands are cold and I think my bus is coming

I put my hands in my pockets and walk away