some people sit

squarely in the


world, an umlaut

atop an accolade.


it strikes me suddenly as

i flit on this splitting branch


that i know    nothing.


i watch people watching

me watching them:


a wizened man cursing the

maze he must maneuver;


a leering lit professor,



i wonder what they see when

they    look-glance    through me:


the nesting couple



the absent-minded mother

gripping the hour.


the über-weight of the rare

gaze-landing, the heady fleeting


feeling that    we are one.


3 thoughts on “café

  1. Love the image of someone ‘gripping the hour’. Thanks for sharing your poem.

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