Self Contained

There used to be a man

who would sit here

on this bench

every day

gazing

at the view.

He was always alone.

He would stretch out his arms 

across the back of the bench

so that he filled it,

completed it.

Though he was

always alone

there never seemed space

for anyone else

he seemed complete

in his aloneness

whole.

So there were no conversations,

or even “good mornings”.

He didn’t seem to need them.

So we all passed by.

And now

we can sit there

with the view,

with his view

and wonder where he is.

And wonder if he is still alone.

And wonder if he is lonely.

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