when he is in the flow
he is unstoppable
soaring the currents
much above it all

grounding in moments
for lack of direction
listening for sounds
to hold his attention

he dives headfirst
into the crowd
dispensing, disbursing
undisturbing his crown

cocky sometimes
but sensitive
so easily bruised
by apathy

he summersaults midstream
his eyes accustomed to glimmer
his insides all a quiver
within the crowd a shimmer

something about the way she walked
the shape of the legs and shoes
her hair that breathed of golden rays
and the sweater that seemed to move