In the creek flow
a man sits on a stool
of a washed-down milk crate
making marks of mysterious significance
on the inside cover of The Book    
He’s sure
that in all this gurgle it’s ok to ask
“a penny for your thoughts?”
He throws a coin into the stream,
then looks up…
windless and
dressed in an unknown hue of blue,
spells out his importance
wiht her utter silence