A middle-aged man in rumpled navy suit,

poorly parted hair and loosely-knotted tie,

faces west in dark glasses at a bus stop

on a busy avenue holding the halter

of a sturdy dog


I whoosh past him, notice the way

he rotates his head, quizzes the air,

quickly becoming a tiny speck

in my rearview mirror


He’s soon replaced by trees and bushes,

porches and lawns, flower beds,

his presence an image that remains

a flash in a next-to-the-last blink

of a figure in a vast shadow

spreading over the surface

of the entire earth