Christmas Shopping

From more than a decade ago, by my friend the poet and photographer:

Our hands slip apart,
I'm castaway.
Bobbing in a pedestrian current
thrown out among the hungry shoppers
of east 59th street.

David?

My name, like me is so small
among these people
as they hunt for symbols,
things to give the sense of
"Lie with me for 12 times 4 years."

She scans full-circle
a lighthouse look,
taking in the street
(its pickpockets,
vendors,
beggars innocents.)
in two half circles.

I, a baby boy in a red row boat
lost in the juggling and jostling
handbags-thighs-knees-shoes.
She picks me out
the child she takes clasping
warm and tight against
the tide
her mother smell sweet,
with a deep hint of woman
shuts out the rest.

Lets it be unsaid
that you are my love,
my jacket,
my safety belt
and I will never undo you
or let you come undone.