He Hides

My feet finally rooted

I dare to the window to watch

The funny ol’ man who wanders with a triangular kind of walk, steady though

I listen faithfully for his footsteps, just because

Just because he almost never makes a sound otherwise

Except that he talks to the sunrise

And I’ll hear him again later when I sit for breakfast

Afternoons, while I’m in the yard, there’s the clickety-clack of his feet heading home 

Amusingly, and not often enough, he shouts random thoughts to the flowers, who he seems to love so well

Once, at breakfast, I got brave

I asked whether he was in need

I whispered actually, but he heard, then did at once oblige and set a spell

Now, at night, he knocks

I wake to talk, but he hides

Funny ol’ man

Save The Date

I wonder if birds keep calendars
And whether they’d pencil me in
We’d all leave our nests
And wander Where’s Best
To catch up on belated breaths

With wings this rusty
I’d ask them
“Teach Me
Of calm flight
In silent valleys.”