02-11-2014, 01:12 AM
Another Revision of "The Little Things"
Vanishing Point
It looks like a painting,
what an artist might see:
an aging couple, at a little cafe, tiny
tables, the man, his white hair, thinning,
thick glasses, his empty plate pushed
to the middle of the table; he is eating
cherry pie, holding his fork in his left hand
like a music baton, accessible
the smallish woman across from him,
her hair also white, a soft hat on,
like a little bird in a nest; she is sipping
chicken soup; her water glass, ice half-
melted; she seems to be waiting for something
small, a bit of conversation
the man’s free right hand touches
the woman’s left index finger,
a small gesture; in a few minutes,
they will enter a different landscape,
their natural depth borrowed
from each other’s perspective
Vanishing Point
It looks like a painting,
what an artist might see:
an aging couple, at a little cafe, tiny
tables, the man, his white hair, thinning,
thick glasses, his empty plate pushed
to the middle of the table; he is eating
cherry pie, holding his fork in his left hand
like a music baton, accessible
the smallish woman across from him,
her hair also white, a soft hat on,
like a little bird in a nest; she is sipping
chicken soup; her water glass, ice half-
melted; she seems to be waiting for something
small, a bit of conversation
the man’s free right hand touches
the woman’s left index finger,
a small gesture; in a few minutes,
they will enter a different landscape,
their natural depth borrowed
from each other’s perspective