Deepening the mist:
the steamy window
of the old cafe
The old neighborhood:
the gang all gone, but the names
still in the cement
All through the night,
after my mother’s passing
the sound of foghorns
Critiquing the cuisine
at the soup kitchen
two homeless men
So many days now
the absence of the old man
who sat in the sun
At the occult shop:
the wizard’s crystal ball
catches the morning sun
The old widower:
so reluctant to conclude
the conversation
In an autumn wind,
looking through a box of books
left on the corner
Now a street person
but still in combat fatigues-
the Vietnam vet
Beyond the chitchat
of the garden party-
the mockingbird’s song