All that happens

around me

remembers or is remembered

Every tiny calligraphic branch,

each leaf or twig,

holds out

in the passing of time,

sharply or dimly recalled

Even tomorrow

and its ceremonies of breakfast,

hard and soft feelings

and brands of clothes,

choices,

and a shiny beetle

engaging a leaf of grass,

is a slight recollection

of sensuous impulses

marching up and down

In a grand sweep

I gather the dust of passage,

and paint a world

over a tipping point

of Now,

seen from the vantage point

of somewhere else,

backwards,

with flapping shirt

and tight fit trousers