if his existence is nominal
what is mine? walking as far
as i do - bag in hand, clicking
by a rate a clock determined
weeks ago. i often pause in
step to waive or nod hello
i've known of him for years
sparse words are ever spoken
i have watched as he slept on
the grass, listened as he taught
himself the trumpet, watched
as he cried his hands curled
around his split shoe. i made
plans to help as i walked by
i remember the day - i walked
quickly, i was late, a man was
waiting, a division of property
then food and colleagues, my plan set
aside until my work was done: i
walked back, noticed the sky and
as i passed he smiled looking down
on his feet sturdy boots, the kind
used to trek across mountains
nothing but silence and a smile
my plan at odds with the ending
of the day - as i clicked on - he
still sits across on the river bank
eats, sleeps in the grass, sings, then
and again plays the given trumpet
