Futility

The damp sidewalk turns into a corner

houses stand silent, faceless,

carelessly watching each passerby

hopelessly make their way through

the pale flicker of the streetlamp

telling a story about futility.

Slow paced breaths rise gracefully,

curl away silently

disappearing like wet footprints.

Still attached to me like cigarette smoke

forcing me to never forget this breath.

I could never forget the breath of frigid air I took

in a silent neighborhood at 1 AM,

no moon, just endless stars.

A silent breath. One that flows through your nose

down your throat and into your lungs in a steady stream

like a water faucet barely turned on.

Staring up at endless flickers of light, a futile effort,

wondering, should I even continue to

attempt to distinguish which ones are

burning giants, planets, or galaxies.

in which other humans are staring back?

If they were, I hope they have no awareness

of the futility keeping us apart.