Cry in the dark and my feet are already gone, down the throat of the street before I think it through. They raised me to move at a sound like that, so I move. I always move. Pavement throws my own steps back at me wrong. Air pulls tight where the lamps run low. Something finds the rhythm of my run and keeps it, one step slow. My throat shuts tight. Again the cry. Not far. Not far now. I turn to the cry, already seen. Out where the lamp burns white, already seen. My step hits the street, his step answers mine, and the street makes a fist at my back. Already seen. A glove in the gutter, one blue glove, no hand in it, going cold. Cry doubles back, then bites itself off, but my feet move on their own. Block up ahead won't hold its shape. A heel turns slow at the far curb, takes my pace, learns the way I walk, and stops dead when I stop. No word. My breath goes thin. Again the cry. Too near. Too near now. I turn to the cry, already seen. Out where the lamp burns white, already seen. My step hits the street, his step answers mine, and the street makes a fist at my back. Already seen. I turn once and the way back's gone. Every lamp behind me, dark and the same. Cry still ahead, pulling me on, his steps fall in behind. No street here he doesn't already know. He was out here before the cry. I stop under one white lamp. His step stops just outside the light. I turn to the cry, already seen. Out where the lamp burns white, already seen. My step hits the street, his step answers mine, and the street makes a fist at my back. Already seen, and closer now. Cry drops low. My throat dries up. Under the next lamp, another step keeps time.
