I love this poem by Edward Hirsch
A Baker Swept By
You were already
losing your eyesight
last winter in Rome
when you paused in the doorway
at nine o’clock on a Saturday morning
and a baker swept by
on a shiny bicycle
waving a cap and singin
under his breath,
you didn’t know bakers wore
white aprons dusted with flour
and floated around the city like angels
on a freshly baked day,
you weren’t sure why
morning halted
up and down the street
as you stood in the doorway
and a baker winged by
on a weekend morning
so new and pristine
that you looked into the sky
and for one undiminished instant
of misplaced time
you saw brightness,
brightness everywhere,
before a shadow crossed
the rooftops
and it was blotted out.