Enjambed (ABaAabAB)

Hands I see in a city beholden
Of hidden souls unfold
An old man’s umbrella that deflects the sun.
Hands I see in a city beholding
The empty pannier who speaks with men
And I — I barely miss the bucket and mop in his dark cold
Hands I see in a city beholden
Of hidden souls unabashedly bold.