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