Zack Steigerwald Schnall

It was a heavy mist

that coated my glasses

on my walk last Tuesday

through the park.

 

A man was there,

with a daughter

playing hopscotch,

 

but by the looks of him

and his weathered clothes

he was alone.

 

Perhaps his wife is blind,

I thought to myself

as passing him by.

 

But he looked at her

with a look so simple

you could put it

 

on a napkin, so pure

you might disturb it

with a glance.