eyes to see

he sits under the bridge, on the pavement, where the sun slants in and kisses his cheeks
and the ruffle of pigeon feathers beat in the air above, and the oxygen flows slowly in, out, in, out, with each light breath

and he sees the cracks in the pavement, where the green grass spikes from the solid earth and the dust swirls under concrete skin

there, shoes tap past in syncopated rhythm, clanging and rigid, a flurry of jet leather and patent brown, stalks of heel and the patter of skin tight moccasins

in their rush they crush the stems of green but they spring back up

and he sees this from his ground-set sphere, he sees the green blades slowly bend and reach once more up to the light where it falls in mottled, flickering shadow; caught in the breeze of trotting calves and corduroy trousers

no one else sees this small thing

just him