The Beginning
There is no one without his hour
and the hour for us arrived at dusk
when two sparrows
outside the café pecked crumbs
off the curb, suddenly turning
into birds of great plumage,
both of them singing,
male and female,
unheard of, yet heard
by us at a table
in a Broadway shed
until the dinner hour came to a close,
that hour in the first line
you’ve already forgotten
because I distracted you
with the conversion of the birds
and the magical crumbs
like words you follow
down the page
until you come to the end
and find yourself facing me.
I tell you I’m starting to fall…
but you interrupt, saying Oh
and this is the next to last line
and just the beginning.
