I Could 

At dusk he was still there a lonely figure of a man with raven’s hair

Bitter hide dark as the grounds in my coffee cup, I could read his fortune

A brush at his feet and a rag in his hands, naked feet cold on the fading sand

Black bones creaking loud as bright crimson falls from a score that was seeping

Leather hands gnarled and broken, I could hold them in mine

Eyes downward to the core of the earth a solitary shadow that has no worth

Picking up coloured litter from the ground, I could help him

And I gathered my towel and paperback story and left him with thoughts of future glory

Starry dreams glitter in the darkening waves, I could catch them

Where will he dream tonight, with those precious few coins in his hand so tight

As my head sinks deep on my satin white pillow, I did nothing