Sunday at the Cafe'

Sitting at your little table in the haze of the Sun
quiet breezes stirring the first yellow leaves

You coaxed me from my dull somnambulation
and nudged all else away-- the spiny creatures
mumbling soldiers, all the lazy moths clinging to my shoulders

A sprig of ivy tangled in a smooth strand of your hair

I played with you like a riddle
your language like a puzzle
holding each word as I turned it in circles

Until ink-made letters perturbed with my prolonged goodbye
leapt from that edgy crossword at the far side of the table
and menaced me as I fled down the street