287/365: A Stranger Whose Coat Flaps for My Attention

I look out at this city,
and I don't feel its vibration.
The thrum of a body unified
doesn't rise through the feet
to tune this heart.
But this woman ahead,
a stranger whose coat flaps for my attention,
she turns that corner,
and I can't stop thinking about her.
She's curled her shoulders in and scuff-shuffles,
like someone who doesn't want to be watched,
even here where I have the only looking eyes.
It's this broad sky and half the trees ripped out.
The city claimed it was for park safety,
but now we dart our eyes back and forth
and squint against the tiled glare.
All day,
she's fed me with stories.
I imagine she smokes alone at lunch.
It was the softness of her shoes' soles
under cold, mid-autumn sun.

I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.