Mild beams of light, rendered apparent, in concert with cold, glide before me, in symmetrical shapes, filtering, my anxiety, bringing my 4000-step walk, to fruition. Your diction resonates for me, and I can tolerate your inaccessibility, but why must you be disproportionately, attuned, to disgust? Whereas, in song, your brokenness is ethereal. I cannot help but register a tinge of surprise each time the italian guys smile respectfully at the black ladies. Perhaps I should sit all day in the teeming pizza shop and observe the sincere goodwill that passes among those politicians call -- ordinary. Maybe that would empty me. At the fruit store, the MTA worker inquired of the price of lemons and, upon learning they are three for a dollar, she purchased a third. And the young, gay, black barista regarded with contempt the disorganized latina woman requesting a napkin. Feelings of envy linger less, as acceptance arises more easily, and gratitude is better recalled – from the faces of these warm, intelligent children. So I should direct activism at myself, and against this inundation -- of heartlessness.