old man moves two heavy legs, one by one
across the bricks of the uneven sidewalk
he must have lost his wife when i was born
and scars began to form when i first learned to talk

each conquered brick, broken, rests,
pride drained, in the shadow of the man's daily quest
i picture his lips as they must have confessed
some silly old feeling when her head lightly rested on his chest

the cigar smoke chuckles at the hours
spent this morning testing the capacity of the human heart
just then i notice in the man's brown bag a modest bouquet of flowers
he and i may have tasted the end, and somehow are still willing to restart