and every day i'd watch his progression up the street,
slowing down for dogs and small children,
picking up neglected mail,
seemingly enjoying the sun pouring around him.
he ignored the rain aiming at his bald spot,
barely bundled himself against the cold of sleet and snow,
crunched boyishly through the the first leaves of fall.
his gait was slow;
relaxed but not lazy,
meandering but not purposeless,
interested in but not intrusive on the lives of his neighborhoods.
he spoke sermons to the animals on our block;
each one could distinguish his shoes from anyone else's,
their blue laces tied so nonchalantly,
the black soles nearly worn through.
he had a certain air about him,
old people smell combined with long-ago smoked cigars and pipes,
a scent of yesterday.
when i closed my eyelids
i could see the colors of his eyes,
and their twinkling green brilliance
which put any emerald to shame.
i never knew where he lived,
he just walked by our house,
every day, regardless of weather, perhaps in cahoots with it -
it was never too violent when he was in it.
and then one day i didn't see him.
it didn't occur to me, until i was brushing my teeth,
that an unusual silence had been held,
all day.
no dogs barked gleefully at his presence, no one thanked him for their stray bills.
i couldn't recall hearing his familiar shoes on the pavement.
he was someone you don't forget that easily,
and he never missed a day.
he missed every day after that,
and it's been a while since i've seen his sparkling emeralds.
but somewhere inside i know
that he's still got that navy pea coat,
and he still walks our streets, only
sometimes you have to sniff a little deeper,
and listen a little more carefully.
the unforgettable sound of sole on the street is faded,
but i can still see him in the rain.
