​We watch the birds
And together we listen to the space
Between the leaves
In the trees.
 
He is there in his brown suit
Of a Sunday,
Sitting on the bench that faces south
And I on the West facing bench
I in blue jeans.
The suit is no more him
Than the blue jeans me,
And he knows it, and so do I.
And though there are only two of us,
He is apparently comfortable there.
 
Two in a courtyard…
The trees and the pavers
The flowers and birds
And the monument
And Us.
 
Now the scent of cologne as he passes,
A kindness exchanged,
And now one in a courtyard.
 
Was two too many for a courtyard?
Or two too few?