written in cement
its still there in the sidewalk
two names
set in and stable
written for all to see
no mistaking
for who they were
and who they thought they were
giving because it was easier
so that they were not alone
when they were together
for those moments
with a finger
or a stick in the soft cement
they wrote what they had found
and it doesn't matter
if it lasts
for in the long run nothing does
but the cement is still there
and the names
and the poetry in the names
all trampled underfoot
with cigarette butts,
ticket stub, fallen leaves, cellophane
a man passed out with dirty cloths and no shoes
waiting for the next rain