my eyes tell me stories of the Asian elder woman
leaning on the Avenue wall
the one who greets my image as i go breezing by
. . . Good Afternoon . . . God Bless you . . .

my eyes wondering ask . . . is she wealthy . . .
does she beg because she thinks she needs more . . .
my eyes tell me stories about others . . . adrift on the Avenue Sea
other sentient beings . . . eye averters . . . some well dressed . . . paper cups in hand . . . Rolex wrists . . . wearing a cell phone shield
they don’t greet my image as i go breezing by

but the elder beggar she’s different
she reaches out for nectar . . . drags three stuffed dirty bags at her feet
somedays she softens her cry . . . simply looks into my eye 
i don’t want to believe my own story . . . doubting her telling the truth
i want to believe she has no need to ever beg at all
she’s just wishing me a good day ~ as she plans her blessed day to come
. . . Good Afternoon . . . God Bless you . . .