Isn't he the man with crimson socks
          and the slow loris climbing
                    like the hour hand from his shoulder,
          over his ear and up
to the pale dome of his head?

The man's face shines with affection.
          He's an honest man and his pet,
                    lackadaisical but not dispassionate,
          is devoted and clear about the nature
of their relationship. There are times

to eat and times to climb, the two things
          a loris is always in the act of.
                    As the man turns, nearly in slow motion,
          the slow loris peers
from behind his left ear and a smile

begins to spread like a sunrise
          on his face. A word
                    takes shape in his mouth as his hands
          reach into the air--reach out
as the word moves forward,

a word of arrival, recognition hovering before him.

Daughter & Chair

It's a sunny day in the middle of the year,
    My daughter in a new white dress
        suns herself in a very bright green beach chair.

She's too young to sit there for long,
    just long enough to pursue a dream,
        a single longing: a sweet, a new toy.

The sun is steady, late afternoon. She's an only child
    and we worry she's lonely, even when dressed up
        and dreaming. If we ask her she pretends not to hear

and pulls at her reddish hair, looking off.
    If we ask again she'll say, Yes, lonesome.
        There's only the one sun and it shines in her eyes.

---

Excerpted from Something Shining by Daniel Halpern. Copyright© 1999 by Daniel Halpern. Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this poem may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

---