2.24.23

Walking down the street to you, 

I saw a hawk in a gnarled tree. 

Before the hawk I saw the men first, 

their hands tucked into their pockets,

their faces tilted skywards. 

There was a stillness we shared: 

those men and I who otherwise share nothing else. 

Their pick up trucks running in the parking lot, 

their faces older, hands rougher than mine. 

We looked at the hawk for a long time together, 

then we looked at each other for just a second 

before we went our own ways, magic dispelled. 

Sometimes I don't know what to say.

But I can tell you about my day, 

which is the only way we can spend the days together. 

Will you turn to look at me? 

Walking down the street, 

I heard music from nowhere.

It was similar to when we met. 

An ordinary day on my own, then you, 

then music.