“Sandals more interwoven and complete
To fit the naked foot of poesy….”
I look up, on this mid-morning ride:
there, angled dozing in a dove-gray seat,
a ginger-haired girl’s anonymous beauty
has caught my eye, the usual distraction.
And then, a brick wall on the urban hillside
beyond, sent past at the appropriate
moment in this private itinerary,
is the hospital where my father died.
Forever beyond pity or contrition,
I am fixed, unmoving. I sweat at how
slowly the wheel of my regard moves on.
I will not recall her an hour from now.