When I talk to you,
It's almost like neither of us left.
We've been headed in two directions,
Our paths intersecting every so often,
And we've picked up new baggage on the
Way--new photographs to burn and
Put in this book of scraps from life's table.
And now you come to me saying
That you can't walk anymore--been
Beat up and robbed and left for dead
By everyone you walked beside toward
Whatever it is you still haven't found...
I may not be much better off, but my
Load is still lighter (it helps when you're
Not the only one carrying it, right?).
So will I choose to be priest or samaritan?
I ask myself as I pass by your broken heart.