the raised part of a sundial that casts the shadow

the sleeves of my cardigan
under my coat are wet
after washing my hands
in a public restroom 
in Union Square. 

I try to avoid this area
for reasons avid readers know,
aside from supporting Strand
for which it took time
to recover my love. 

going the long way west
towards the theater
that holds no memories
for me for her,
so it is an easy pass.

everyone talks about
and touts summer love
but winter makes me 
nostalgic for romance,
and what might-have-beens. 

and ignorance is bliss
so I bypass it
until my bladder makes me detour,
almost butting up against a bench
from another winter's life.