His unmade appearance
appeared complete. He walked
with a leaning intention; his eyes
half pointed down, observing the
ground while ignoring the sky. He
shouldered a number of illusions
hidden behind shadows. His youth
was brief; adulthood was always close
to his thoughts. Days were full of
walking, quoting poems and parts of
speeches. His pockets were empty
but he overflowed with logic. People
smiled but he seldom noticed as he
followed a customary walk into town
on the side of the river familiar
to him.
Roger Singer 