It’s to dance around,

to tiptoe.

To hug the sides

And fear the middle.

To need the wall at your back.

And without that behind,

Surrounded by maybe nothing,

It’s utter possibility.

I’m cloaked

And I fear.

It’s a man, naked.

Out in the wretched open

And I see him reaching out

And I think

He can’t be free.

His skin is his coat.

He’s still hiding, see?