When you meet him it’s as if

he’s looking for something

just ahead of your moment,

a morsel he lost and hopes to find

just before you say what you mean.

In the instant where you are

he has moved on.

Sometimes he comes back for directions

or food. There are bills,

the discarded nuisance of what has come before.

Anything he says is already walking away.

Left in a room with him, you’re newly alone.