If I look hard enough

I see you

striding along the path

your denim shorts and white shirt

striking among a sea

of walkers.

As your pace quickens,

I fall behind

till you come back around.

I toy with a stone

watch the crows

flapping about.

Early birds and all that jazz,

isn’t that what you told me? 
Coming back to where I was

or am now

waiting for you to come around

and call out,

I wonder if your skies

are just as blue

or colourless, or grey

or as smog-ridden 

on a winter’s day?

Does the bougainvillea 

sweep the pond,

do cold morning drafts 

rustle your thoughts? 

Early birds and all that jazz

I wonder who is eating the worm.