The Oiseau

My oiseau lives in a high rise
As certain oiseaux do,

And works on her premises,
As some oiseaux are also known to.

A feeling of loneliness
has brought me to her,

Some sense of not being seen or heard,
Of people moving away.

This need to talk. Somewhere I read
Those who meditate come to that place.

I am at her door right now, with check in hand,
Hoping soon the conversation will begin.

August 2003