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A man on a downtown street,
sunglasses and an empty cup…
it’s warmer there by the grate;
steam rises religiously
as the pious avert their eyes.

The cynic wonders if the glasses
hide blindness or hunger.
One never knows and will not
get a look into those windows
of his soul

but when he lifts the horn
to his lips, notes rise
from deep inside. No sunglasses
can mute the truths
they tell.

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