The guitar player on a park bench

that I passed by in the evening

and did not photograph

had the voice of a 70s singer.

He sang in French

and with a lightness and openness of heart

almost unbearable to hear

like the recording of a singer my parents loved

that I happened upon as a girl.

A voice so unearthly,

so terribly naked.

I always thought

why would anyone want to feel this way?

What is such sweet and short lived beauty worth?

How can it ever be held?

So I could not take a photo of him.

I just listened to him as I strolled by

and when I was far enough ahead

and his song could no longer reach me,

I looked back.

-ZGDaniel