A secret life can be of the spirit of the mind of the heart Or a Thursday tango lesson in The Barrio A dark haired stranger who sits beside you everyday on the bus Though you never exchange a word and only the edges of your coats touch each other Or a small spot high in the spruce tree hung with icicles and later berries I can put myself up there with the birds on a sunny day hang out on a limb and watch the sky move I can see the cars below softened into sleeping bears the bird tracks in the snow quickly filling in My face tingles from new snow blowing from the east The world is mercifully white again Montclair, NJ, 2005
Hiding Out