By Conner Duke
Recall for me the last time you felt the sun. The cold, persistent as time, lapping at the edges of your coat. Stepping, the streets crowded, laughter, the wind’s push, pull, circular traffic, and there—a face. Across the way, perhaps, but eyes meet eyes. Turn, look away, but the moment freezes the mind—oh, how human a face it was. Or how human it must have been, that I should sing this human song....