Able to afford its shrinking summer shade,
the old man sat on the window ledge
of the corner store,
watching traffic,
greeting through his thirst,
customers coming and going.

One, 
in anonymous celebration 
of fortune's occasion
tore from a six-pack
a cold can of care
for him to share.

Before popping its top 
the old man held the beer up
in both hands cupped,
raised his eyes as if to say:
through this,
  with this,
  and in this
  I drink to You:
   the ever present question,
   the never ending answer.

Behind the veil of earth’s noon-light,
galaxies hummed to the strum of stars.

June 25, 1988