Some pictures in my bird book
(c. 1949) are missing.

You’ve been missing
for a long time.

Even when you were here 
you were missing. 

I bring back no words 
from my sighting of you

at night
stumbling down 72^nd street.

In my book, the nighthawk is missing.
The nighthawk is constantly

in the air. Flying
in a zig-zag path.

You, sleepless & 
hollow-eyed crossing 72^nd street

falling down
the metro stairs.

Unseen, I watch you.
Nighthawks dive and bank

as they feed on flying insects. You—
diving and banking as you move forward

like a low flying bird
in this crepuscular evening.

Both display cryptic coloration
gray white buff blue—mottled,

deleted
from the pages of my life.

Lee Varon is a social worker and writer. Her poetry and prose have been published in various journals including Constellations, Pleiades, Atlanta Review, Briar Cliff Review, Fox Cry Review, Lumina, Permafrost, Sensitive Skin Magazine, So to Speak, and Ibbetson Street. She has a master’s in social work from Boston University. You can read more about her work at https://www.leesvaron.com/.