Handlebars II

Perhaps we're just
handlebars
to one another

crutches under
the sweaty pits of
our fellow stumblers

the difference between someone
making it or eating shit
in the wet dirty street

we could reach out, wide-eyed,
hands filled with trust
for a stranger, for anyone

burnt or burning
like a Virgin
de Guadalupe candle

an altar made of flowers,
water, air, metal and dirt,
fresh fruit and feathers