the ballerina's pauper

in a darkened narrow alley

a single pauper walks,

his warm breath

making a vanishing trail that falls behind.

for a moment,

the white puffs pause

as he takes in a deep breath

and smiles.

as the wind picks up,

he pulls tight

the scarf that she made for him.

he walks up to a lit barrel,

the flames dancing

out the top

and into the night air.

he warms his hands

briefly,

his gloves cut halfway

exposing cold, dirty fingertips.

he tips his wool cap

to the other destitues

and continues down the alley.

his footsteps sound and splash

in the muddied water

between the cobble stones that blanket the street.

he looks down at his feet

and closing his eys,

he takes in another deep breath.

holding it in for a moment,

he looks up to through the crisp night air

at the clear black sky,

and blows his breath

toward the stars.

as he rounds the corner

to exit the alley,

he pulls her scarf up over his mouth

to hide another smile,

but it still shows in his eyes.