Like some monk, I pull the hood over

my head, the top of it above my eyes

obscuring and focusing my vision.

I say no prayers except the ones

of my presence, hearing and seeing

answer enough for me.

I pass unnoticed, unseen appearing

occasionally at the right place at

the right time, hear, “Thank you”

and disappear the way a wild

animal does – that step not quite

believable like a magician’s trick.

I like it best this way. The way

of the crossroad, the intersection

of time and place and need,

the call of “Wait, please” an echo.

No-one able to see where

I’m going not even me.