cradle worms and ants

sometimes I see a specter
a glimmer of someone I feel I know
a ghost of someone I feel like I could know
but it falls under the haze of dim lights

so I stare outside
through a dirty glass window
and I see an oily cloudy night sky
and I think about all the crooked spines
that I've walked and kissed
but it's a futile attempt
at distraction from listening
to conversations around me
conversations that are uninteresting

and so I trace the lines
in the palm of my hand
wondering if they'll
ever be traced by
foreign fingers again
almost hoping rather
that they can cradle
worms and ants instead
knowing that they are
harmless and
want
nothing
in
return