What is it about the wind
That allows the secrets in?
Shapes rush past: are they human?
Neighbors or merely phantom?
I lunge forward, moving away
From the statue of a superlative steed,
Need I feel fear, uncertainty
In the darkish park/
Hardly! I am freshly stimulated;
My cheer brushed
By a barking fluffy pup.
(A leftward extension of an old
Buick Park Avenue rear passenger
Port, but – chort!”)
Why then does the brief infusion
Of a bewildered / or enthused dog
Arouse my imaginings of the
Wonders of a life examined (and enjoyed);
Far better than the peripheral,
Blurred shades
Of an anthropoidal,
Pedestrian,
Mob?
