In
a
moment,
a retained
thought would cross my mind:
Chairs
at
obtuse
angles; the
passing of a cloud,
On
a
towpath,
out-pacing
a quickening weir,
In
the
barbers'
mirrors, two
boys out-mean themselves.
Then,
from
under
the fighting
ducks, would bob a third.
Through
the
autumn
sun, silver
threads trace auburn hair.
In
the
close, a
cat would stretch
between evergreens.
