the long day

the men in the park,
part of the benches, part
of the wood, in
their overcoats,
the long grey limbs
hold each
other up, listen
without hearing,
see without eyes.
the lives they lead
are never over, just
reinvented, going on
and on, to those who
have time to listen,
sometimes a swan
across the pond
will do, or a flock of
pigeons at their boots,
close by.