he stands on the edge of the triangular shaped divide
where the road branches off into two
both going in the same direction
uptown
one to east side and one to the west
leaning forward
torward the oncoming traffic
he holds a weathered book in his hands
his breath makes strange shapes in the air
clouds
that hover for a moment
before being swooshed away by the hordes of cars flying by
there is no anger
serenity on a freezing concrete
and palpable belief
he paces back and forth
eyes shut tight
then wide open
the shut tight again

i'm transfixed
i wish it were simply
fixed