He straggles
into the coffeehouse,
one bad leg half limp,
eyes turned down
towards floorboards
and drags strong
on his cigarette~
for friendship
for solace
for nicotine's
trusted zing,
then opens
the screendoor
where black coffee
awaits his
small bird's body,
something to take him
under its wing.
Slowly, morning's
dim eyes
begin to see again,
then sipping to drink,
they flutter,
blink,
engines of soul
fire right up,
surprised ourselves
we hear
his percussive mutter
awakening us
as well as himself
to be here
embodied
together,
and with one
dawning voice,
risk losing
false separation
‘tween us and him,
beneath surface difference
we’re aroused
and enlivened---
somehow united
and peopled---
to feel
and to sing.
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