Answering to animist impulses
He was certainly alert and receptive
With his mathematics of love
An urbane tribute song to transience
That echoes the color of nothing
Just a metaphor for memory

Near-sighted and tone-deaf
His steady gaze before him
He says in his language that he’s lost
Going on and on about desiring things
Until the whiff of strangers breaks his spell
And just like that it’s over