more dedication than eulogy
does the black top hat tame only his curls
so thick and black and wild
you might just wonder, as you descry
him strolling down the alley way,
in an all too pensive mood.
in a different light, nocturnally, they could be gray
as he mumbles riddled wisdoms
frequently witnessing grave pains adorned
with long-lost loves of distant pasts.
but then his head turns back at you
in almost playful revelation
and you catch a glimpse of the coquettish probes
with which he secretly investigates
the law of time – to you abundantly abound –
and to him redundantly bound at best.
if now you think a clown he could be
with painted smiles of will and chance
you will discover soon, my friend – as i did one fine day –
that no, his audience isn’t comprised of fools
who think so lightly of the world
but rather those enchanted by the silent
flirt that roams the top of the trees
in fall and spring and infinitely
as the only sly witness and secret lover
of the ever-fleeting wind
without which, this man just seems to know,
all comes and goes and starts anew.