At dawn, near the parade ground,
in the shadow of the obelisk,
where the fountains have not yet
been turned on, you can look out
and see the youthful instructor,
sometimes a man, usually a woman,
following five paces behind the one
who is blind, who is being taught
how to walk with a long, thin cane
that is swept from side to side
across the empty paths. They come
early, there is never anyone else
in the park at this hour. Immediately
after you drive by, you are not sure
you really understood what you saw.
It seems mixed up with something else,
some old, half-remembered story
that comes to you now, at the stoplight –
how she yearned to reach out and take
his hand, how he kept pressing ahead,
beyond the shadows, into the sunlight,
while she fell farther behind, and in
another moment, he will turn, and
there will be nothing, nothing at all.
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