magpie #2

each day he’d round that same corner

and face the solitary magpie there—

twitching, picking at its modest hoard.

and each day he’d greet the lonely soul

softly, as though to make the case for friends,

before bearing the evening sorrow that

each one-sided meeting brought.

but one morning, when the night had

spilt into the milky sky, he couldn’t find

the patience for a promise of joy,

and walked silent where once they spoke.

now each day he rounds the corner,

absented by that persistent omen,

with doubled sorrow and loss of hope.