He finds time in places
I’d never think to look.
Fifteen minutes tucked
in the back pocket of his jeans,
a half-hour, hiding
behind the lapel
of a pea coat.
Then just gives them away… for free.
Meek and mild, completely wild,
bounding into consciousness
chiming “good-MORNING!”
as I sluggishly slide across the sheets
to hit “snooze,” one more time.
Memory like a goldfish.
Eternally spellbound
by the
every day miracles that somedays,
I just swim past.
A light in the old bell tower of The Pinnacle,
mapping out the first of the evening stars,
or the way of a woman’s hair as it falls,
tumbling over sun-speckled shoulders,
pinned back by leaves and moss
in the park.
Then standing, in the almost dark,
in a place I’d never think to stand
with the last five minutes of his day
he sends me on my way
with the scent of fresh flowers,
and day old cologne.
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