Le Flâneur – a poem by Zav Levinson

Le Flâneur 

Red leaves 
on the trees downtown.
It’s September again, in this little corner 
of the world. Transitions
happen now. 

Once September was all beginnings. Now, 
twice that young man’s age, 
time is doled out like rare fruit.

It’s Monday, the museum doors 
are closed. No art today. But the city
is never closed. 

People wear colours
their feet tap  
as they go by.
The sky threatens rain. Humidity builds.
I wait.  

Does God watch?
I have no pronouns for God. Only names.
The one who watches. 
The one who listens. I 
I am not empty. I yearn. I reach.
I lean.

The café half a flight down
is warm.
Granite walls hung with art.
Rumble of voices, soft choral music. 
It feels safe. The mind is allowed 
to take time off its chores,
explore. Everyone has a book (or a laptop).
We’re all studying. 

Zav Levinson studied English literature at McGill University and Université de Montréal. A trained cabinetmaker, he ran the studio arts workshop for the Faculty of Fine Arts at Concordia University for 33 years. He is poetry co-editor of JONAHmagazine (https://jonahmagazine.com/). His second chapbook, reverb, from Sky of Ink Press, was published in the fall of 2022. His poems have appeared most recently in Montreal Writes, Amethyst Review, Canadian Literature, as well as in the QWF fundraising chapbook My Island, My City.