A Communal Stupor

Look
at the ponderous whispering sailor stippling the bar counter
with the tip tap of his cigarette butt. 

He zero's in on the scaly floor;
yet wavers his gaze around the liquor shelves;
a contraception to pin-point perfection,
I suppose.  We see him there,
yes, on his stool, duly invisible; yet still, something peculiar lingers about him and crosses our minds.

Together, we
shall discern this fellow's introspection.  We enact the ponderous paramour,
who masks as an empathetic prospector,
inspecting with care and due attention
so as not to alarm the integral mind's eyelid of our valorous
intrusion. 
A transposition:
from a supple spark of a flint
flaunting eruption,
to the embers melting a tunnel between minds;
between comrades. 

A great combustion can empower many;
for reactants leave behind products that rest over time,
just waiting to be excavated. 

However, one can excavate
only that which they can see.  So when this one stares at the sun and
sees everything;
we must take from him what we can
and run,
before he goes blind.