A Poet

The light shines down on him and falls inside every mark of age on his face
Which in return outlines and illuminates his cheeks chin and forehead
He recites a poem about nature that sounds like every poem I’ve ever heard about every flower ever described before
He speaks with no emphasis, completely mono toned
It makes me wonder what he sounds like when he talks to an old friend
Blabbing on the phone
Does he ever get excited, heart beating quickly and speech fast
Proving that he’s human, that he’s not constructed of mechanical parts
Is he just a simple man that says what crosses the streets in his mind
He’s not simple enough because he still has things to say
He recites another poem and his voice still sounds the same
mouth forming shapes that he learned as a child
Half moon, circle, then oval… as he speaks the words come out
These letters that come together point out the differences of now and then
And they drift through the room in and out of everyone’s ear like an aroma