The Game

Early sunny air
   a narrow little park
   no one else is there
   and I’m just passing through
Pink and orange flowers, birdsongs, insects
   gradations of green in the bushes and trees,
   a gray muscular squirrel stops, stares
   concrete tables, a few scavenger pigeons
   wooden park chairs painted green
   tufts of light green grass, brown dirt, grayish stones
   a soft little wind, swaying leaves
Don’t be afraid—
   those playing cards scattered on the ground
      are just the remnants of the game
Time moves on
   but nothing ever passes
No one is touching me now
I am lost for the moment but then—
   I gave it everything I had

-July 27, 2008-