On the same granola hipster corner in Portland as last night,
the thin bearded boy seated on the sidewalk next to his dog,
diffident, not quite meeting your gaze.
His sign speaks for him:
"Namaste. Remember that you are loved and beautiful."
His surprise at being addressed;
his startled pressing of palm to palm as he bows from the waist.
His longing to reach out.
His fear of reaching out.
The story of his life that you don't know,
because instead of asking if you could sit with him,
you gave him a dollar and walked on.
His vulnerability.
His holiness.
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