Perfect [2002]

He lives his life
in the spaces between obligation
Like the flashes of light
on the cels of a motion picture.
His footsteps are the fall of leaves to the pavement,
whispering and sometimes a clap.

He sees a woman
crossing and uncrossing her arms,
straightening,
Unsure of whether she is
in front of
or behind
the table.

A glove suspended
in the spaces between the branches
Like the solitude of gravity
on the cloth without structure.
As perfect as the hulking stones set equally apart,
alone and sometimes together.

The arch of the door
is also perfect, as is the steam,
Which rises
to embrace the sun
So he can see
the perfect
circle outline.

He thinks in verse
in the spaces between breathing
Like every step is a symphony
on the echoing architecture.
He is the only one waiting for the shutter to close,
singing and sometimes silent.