a poem; or, sometimes, hearing everyone’s thoughts, it gets uproarious.
the man at the bus stop said I was beautiful
last night, that my eyes were so blue
and that my wings made such a sound, like music.
he spoke to me about subatomic particles,
and how birds fly by seeing God and death at the same time.
he said he could see that I was good
and that he loved me.
if I had written down everything he said,
I could have been the next great poet.