Morgan

16

"The Watchman"

The sun pokes petals over the horizon
and casts yolky glow on the water.

The man sits with toes in the sand
and hands pressed to his lap

as joggers, treasure hunters, and tired faces
pass by-

he remembers each one
for the moment they meet his view.

He doesn't speak-
his lips are cracked and tired

of words sounding strange 
the more he says them,

but he reads the water's edge
like poetry 

and spends his mornings
with the sun.

The passers notice him
at the beach's midriff

wandering eyes jetty to jetty,
lips quivering in the wind,

but they don't see things
like him

and he doesn't care to share
with their full-up minds:

only the barking gulls took liking
to this lonely man

and each morn they walk by his side,
never too closely,

though he has never given a crumb
to their begging beaks-

they are in good company
with the bare footed man.

He sits and watches-
watches the sky with birds at his side,

the sun fluttering upwards
and flooding his bones,

as he breathes morning's heir
without moving his lips.