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