missing

the man whose hands

were dressed in feathered gloves

missing the fingers and threaded

through with plastic spoons and

ballpoint pens and twigs and

bits of wire is vanished

from the plaza

two days ago

his cart was there

filled with discarded

things unredeemable

things that no one would

even notice, fast food styrofoam

a torn teddy bear, a willow branch

and a multitude of plastic shopping bags

tucked under a plaid blanket in the stolen

shopping cart, the rest of his meager collection

of orphaned shoes, empty milk jugs, strands of twine

and standing beside it talking on a mobile phone

a city cop, does he know something? was there

some tragedy just before i walked by and now

there is no trace but a tramp's treasured litter?

i'd see him at dawn, sitting talking quietly

and smoking cigarettes rolled in scraps

of newspaper held carefully in his

feathered bristling hands and

seeing texas or manhattan

or a wife a farm a favorite

bar or tree, i don't know

except that it was his

and now he's gone