The Barefoot

You pass before my eyes: a spindle-shaped figure, black, black, barefoot a sackcloth on the body clutching a bag of dry bread on a thin shoulder bent beneath the load. Scorched by the heat of the day burnt by the brands of coin. Hungry thirsty worshipper of a glass of water worshipper of a morsel of bread worshipper of a shading umbrella — a maple or a plane tree by the street — alley by alley you pass before my eyes. I run after you alley by alley O love! barefoot like you...