He faces west when she’s not watching
Hands on hips that don’t exist
Watching in his periphery
For a blink of understanding
But he waits alone in this crowd
Adjacent to everyone at once
Yet outside of his idea of home
She pretends not to see him
Waiting for the subtlest sign
A hint that something’s changed
Seeing the shadow of a sigh
Wrapped up in his buffalo stance
Their eyes meet in-between breaths
Stopping to inquire
Then moving on to others
Who matter not at all
Comfortable in the hidden dance
That moves and sways in perfect time
With the rhythm of their heat.
My Poetic Muse 