I must

 

sit in the evening

                on a pink moon blushing

 

see the aging sailor

                his brown beard speckled white

                like a seabird whose wandered

                a bit too far inland

 

hear the cries of oh my!

                from a gentle mother

                who tidies her apron

                as children run past her

                faster with grass stains

 

at every passerby,

                wait for them to realize

                that I am not a stranger

                glaring at them

                from across the sky,

                but a young poet

                with a glistening eye.