You heard something once

You heard something once,
or part of something you felt was profound.
Crowded sidewalk on a breezy, beautiful, sunny day in the city,
when you heard him say it to a friend.
You stopped in your tracks, focused and saw his face briefly.
Briefly but clearly.
That face you'd never forget over the decades.

You saw him turn a corner and ran to catch up.
You turned that corner and he was...
gone...
forever.

Handsome young man about your age - 20-something.
You wiped away a tear from the corner of your eye,
and you mumbled to yourself so
you'd remember what you were able to hear.

"This is important," you said in dedication under your breath.
"I would give anything to hear the rest and to
ask him some questions."
True enough...it's rare to hear anything profound these days.
Or those days, I should say.
Or on any day - past or present.
Forty years ago...could it have been so long?
Many times you walked where you'd last seen him, hoping
to see him again.

But, no, he never presented himself.

Today you walk with me and tell me about these words from
that distant prophet. For the millionth time, it seems. I admit,
like I've always done,
that I too would have liked to have heard
the whole thing.

We pass a park filled with small audiences for a few public speakers.
Yet another breezy, beautiful, sunny day.
This is a well known spot for such goings-on.
"It's okay," you reassure. "The police don't bother anyone here
like they used to. Not even undercover."
"Right," I agree. "They've got things under control, more than anyone
dreamed possible."

Why do you stop so suddenly? "It's him!" you whisper, pointing to
one young man on a soapbox.

"Can't be," I said. "Look at him - he's way too young - in his 20's, I'd say."

I follow as you walk over, squinting your eyes to take him in.
"Sure looks like him," you caution. "And sounds like him. But...he's too young."

And yet, he speaks to the small group of strangers, using those words you'd
told me about all these years.
But of course it can't be him. Too young...unless.
"Say, do you believe in miracles,
like someone can stay young
forever?"

You ask me, sounding so hopeful.

Then you freeze again as your gaze drifts behind
the young speaker to a man who must surely be
his father. He aged just like you thought he would.
He looks so poor, though: Shabby, unkempt, old suit.
Life didn't mark him as a man of wealth.

But he looks so happy, like he managed to learn a
few more secrets above and beyond what you'd heard
once upon a time.

It's okay - go ahead and cry.