Cinder Block Wall

He pulled it out, a square of paper, thin,

from a box marked 'High School'.

A younger him, before I began

to trace the map of his face. Not cool

or confident. A too-big jacket,

shoulders sloped, a shy, almost

awkward tilt to his head. A cinder block rack,

or wall, behind him. A ghost

of spring rain on the concrete,

a wet sheen. That faint mist,

it could have been today's street

after a quick shower. I almost missed

the person I know. He was there,

somewhere inside that boy,

but unformed, a shape in the air,

a different, quiet kind of joy

or sadness. Who was he then,

before my name even brushed his ear?

Standing there, just him. When

did the weather change from unclear?