Quail by Richie Hofmann

Quail

He addressed me as “my quail, my sweet quail.”

He was easy to obey.

It was a year ago in Connecticut, I remember the middle of his body,

the beach, a hollowed out tree in the sand, changing leaves,

the parking lot of a senior citizens home—

When will I see him again, I asked myself

while I was with him,

taking off my socks in the sand,

and again the next day, when I wasn’t,

and the day after that,

and the day I woke up

and there was snow on the tennis courts.