Stranger On a Train Station

On the start of a brand new year,
we parted ways while old men had warm greetings.
I can't remember the taste of your lips
or the warmth of your tongue.
What I do remember is the way his shoes looked against day old snow
how their prints still held
the pure clay far beneath the snirt covered path,
how when his knees bent
and cracked against a warm wind,
how his face seemed as deep and understanding
of places that I've never seen.
He was the experiences of my dreams
in a stranger who didn't even notice me.