I rarely meet a man who interests me.
I mean no blame or insult stating so.
I’m mostly rapt in my identity
and have too little stamina to know
another person – I’ve too much to do.
But every quarter century it seems,
while changing course, I take a wider view,
and note a “you,” and act on sudden dreams.

I met a guy and worked with him a bit
and looked into his face, and now I find
I want to hear his story, ask him things,
while wondering if it’s appropriate
to feel so fanciful. Which is it – time
or person – that’s impelling me to sing?