She ate at a table for two,
coffee, bagel, solitude.
She brought her mouth to the spoon,
not once looking down at her food.

She searched the current instead,
a flying flock of quick steps.
Her face is blurry at this distance.
Ahead she sat, in her brown sweater,
buried into the brick wall behind her.

Her unsettled eyes stand out, shifting.
A fingertip drummer skips a beat, finger nail high hat
–enter green shirt, large, red, back pack –
and then a solo.
A low, bass heart lifts in crescendo.

She stands, hello, she sits,
a white daisy field of smiles.
He curtains the show.
Now I look down to watch
her shadow.