A man walks out
each morning and gives
a glass of water to a rose
in its slab of sunshine
in his mind messengers
a few catchphrases since years
since villages since one supervisor
is not like another supervisor
this life is scratchy
he may step back with care
and still the landscape remains
a handful of lines
that cling to him as he moves
at this hour buying groceries
and elsewhere inventories
his true work patience
a slow rain of effusiveness
and organizational problems
so shut up he thinks
still wearing the little slap they gave him
then the history of weather
then a butterfly
rises up to knock
a boy down in a backyard
his true work caution
two strangers touch shoulders
on a street corner
where the evening shifts
its crowds dissolve
together giving up a single
cup of coffee or puff of smoke
a clutch of birds drawing out over
the museum and a few ordinary
names or hours as he rises and circles
as he has been practicing
all these years
so that he might
rise and circle
one day a bit
more gracefully as if
nothing happened ever