A green day. Spring. A man

in khaki pants, black cotton

coat billowing, a big smile --

the kind i want to enjoy, flips

a green knapsack off his shoulder

and takes some big steps like big gulps

of water. This guy is swimming

the sidewalk. His arms dart out

like long, skinny, dark

schools of fish; his fingers

weave. Suddenly in his fluid

hands, a paper bag appears. He unscrews

the cap; he unwinds; he unwinds.

He hoes under, a deep

man sunken. A solid

man. He jolts. Pulls

himself taut. Upright. Slings

the knapsack. Walks. Walks a bit.

Skip down some concrete steps.

Such lightness, such straight shouldered

confidence in his bouncing steps. In

this deep

fathomless city like wasted

gold of sea stuck treasure what other

bright energy is twisted

into lookalike death. Personal

dark. Personal shadows. That place

where each person has no chance

or charm save the boastful

deception of his pain where his life wants to be.