That man in the field staring at the sky
without the excuse of a dog
or
a rifle - there must be a reason
why I've put him there.
Only moments
ago, he didn't exist.
He might be claiming this field
as his own,
centering himself in it
until confident he belongs. Or
he could be
dangerous, one of those
men who doesn't know
why he talks to God.
I thought of making him a flamingo
standing alone on one pink leg,
a
symbol of discordancy
between object and environment.
But I've grown so
weary of inventions
that startle but don't satisfy.
I think he must have
come to grieve
a good friend's death, and just wants
to stand there,
numbly, quite sure
the sky he's looking at is vacant.
But I see that he
may be smiling -
his friend's death was years ago -
and he might be out
there to savor
the solitary elation of having discovered
what had eluded
him until now.