TOM HARMON
ON THE STREET
I am a person you pass
everyday
without a name
without a frame of reference
save maybe a nod
familiar clothes
or maybe not
deep in thought
troubled, anxious
or carefree, taking in the day
meandering nowhere
or plodding to work
perhaps hurrying home to a lover
sometimes straight in your way
sometimes in your eye’s corner
with fears, with hopes
dreading death, reaching for tomorrow.
I am a person you pass
everyday
seeing myself in you.
MENDING CANVASS DOCKSIDE
The breeze was not ours
today. Though the sun was
and the waves, which paced
our needle wielding,
and the sighting of eagles, their calls
and October’s colors cascading
from mountains to the river’s banks.
The breeze was not ours
today.
Still, we sailed afternoon’s hours
stitch by stitch.
WHILE ON A WALK
The rising mist
revealed a dory, beached
beneath a blue tarp:
someone’s summers
wintering over.