Chinese Restaurant

I sip green tea in a quiet corner

and beyond the sunstained window

an agile flash of red sedan

parks its clean lines; chrome

headlamps like insect eyes

reflecting passers-by.

A little girl sits on her hands

at a table beside me, watching

her full-mouthed father

work his chopsticks.

I know what magic is—

warm food in the belly, a sunny

afternoon among gentle strangers,

the raw clarity of a new automobile

which, when I turn to look again

has changed to blue.