His hair shines black
through blonde highlights.
He is slender and slight
but suddenly muscular
when the angle is right.
If he smiles
life loves me after all.
If he scowls
I have no chance.
His brown hands wave above
the deck with what I admit is grace.
His painted nails flash
blue to black and back.
His hands seem soft
so long as they hover
but grow hard
each time they touch a card.
He speaks of life as one outside,
of death as one immune:
“Tonight, the stars blink for you.
The trees bow as you pass,
their shadows rippling like spilled ink.
“Feed on what you cannot name.
Let it warm you more than milk and honey.
Give yourself to the wind—
seeds uncaring where they sink.
“Walk apart, but not alone:
a hermit of moonlit hunger,
a fool chasing the sky,
full of the ache inside.”
About the Author: Jacob Friesenhahn is the author of the poetry collection The Prayer of the Mantis (Kelsay Books, 2025). This poem was first published in MSU Roadrunner Review, Issue 7, Winter 2024.