I watched a worker walk beneath the moon
at 9 a.m., his form a slender shape
against the sky. As if atop a dune
he moved, within his hand a reel of tape,
and took the measure of a ragged roof.
The moon hung pale as smoke above his head
while he appeared to plan his labor, proof
of competence in attitude and tread.

I saw him while I walked and he was out
of sight 6 seconds afterward. But he
abides in memory as striking as a shout:
A slice of life in rare activity,
the angle of my vision made him seem
a master gymnast on a balance beam.