APHASIA

THE WORD AND THE FLESH

Late seventies, silent,

immobile face, he viewed me

with the eyes of a Beagle.

I smiled, walked close,

softly rubbed his back,

touched his hand.

He gripped my fingers,

fingers of an urban man.

I feared – foreign,

illegal, canine –

where he might take them.

In fact, he carried them

calmly to his mouth –

I felt his tropic breath –

then turned them over,

kissed my palm.