The mind is restless.
It never sleeps.
Thoughts skip across the surface
Like flat rocks on a lake
Sink to the bottom
Into darkness and mud.
A man traipsed the square leaning on his walker
Straw hat. Wide brim. Khaki pants. Plaid shirt
Covered with
Little squares of faded black and gray.
Unshaven.
Hair in his ears.
“Hello, do you speak English?
Where are you from?”
The man stands straight up
When he speaks.
A little smile
Reveals his yellowing teeth.
“Mendocino? Ah, I was there in 1954.”
His eyes look away.
“Worked on a forest fire.
Fifteen men were killed.”
The air is still.
A giant laurel tree looms behind him.
“What’s that?
No, born in Illinois.
Became a missionary
In Fout Springs.
You were there?
Hardly anybody knows that place.”
“Ha! Soaked in that
Foul-smelling sulfur-water?
Drank it too, did you?
Do you any good?”
He laughs.
“Yes, I’m still alive too.”
“So, how do you hold
Body and soul together?
Well, that’s fine.
No, I live here.
Never too hot,
Never too cold.”
His voice is kind,
Wistful.
He opens the walker into a seat
And sits.
“How long are you here?”
“Too bad. Not long enough.”
His shoes
Like the rest of him
Look a bit worn.
But his eyes grow bright
When he speaks.
I’m reluctant to leave.
“Been here so long,
I can’t remember.
I guess it was
About ten years ago.
Maybe more.
This your first time?”
“So you like it then,
Do you?
You could move here,
You know.
What’s that?
I used to say the same thing.”
“No. Never did.
You wouldn’t either.”
The wings of a thousand pigeons
Explode
When he throws some grain
Out on the ancient stones.
“Oh sure, of course.”
He stands up.
“Thanks for taking the time.”
He tips his hat and shuffles off
To the center of the square
Under blue sky to find a new victim.
Thoughts come and go like people.
Mix like the flavors
In a perfect mole
Disappear into the flow of life
Settle into an uneasy rest
Incased in the mud, lost forever.