The Man With Expectations

The man with expectations crosses
		the bridge
holding a paper bag.
The bag is empty, gaping toward the wind.

Perhaps the man is expecting to capture
		a villanelle
or the last ray of the sun
which he will let out of the bag
late at night in his room.

He is hoping for a cloud
or a postcard from China,
a kiss blown by a stranger,
a little gratuitous praise.

The bag puffs in a gust and the sun goes down.

After all, it could be that 
this is the bag from which the dream
has just escaped,
leaping the rail to the river
scudding over the rocks and under
the paddles of kayaks,

The last, brightest thing in the water.
After the sun
the last drowning light in the water.