Reading, Writhing, Rhythm Tic

Not that it alters
the story for most
but I was jewelry shopping
when I saw him
this time.
Unlike the last
I reintroduced myself
eighteen years after
his heart taught my mind.

"Last name?" he asked
to filter out thousands
of others he helped
through the system for years.
A warm recognition
came when it hit him.
He shook with his left--
his right on a cane--
proof that we've both
had our battles since then.

There wasn't the shame
there had been before.
Success is not something
one mounts to a wall.
And still, like in grade school
the pages hold answers.
He nurtured a searcher
who's still on the trail.