The light is good
The breeze is strong
The tiredness
Throughout the body
Is replicated by the dryness
Of the blossom-tree leaves
The afternoon is mine
It wasn’t always going to be so
What is yours is or isn’t yours
I have no way of knowing
The place, this place
The new desk
Beside the banister
With Batik
An upstairs window
Which looks out
Over trees, over rooftops
Over half-way horizons
The time is good
The mind is strong
The awareness
Throughout the body
Is contrasted
By the endless line of slights in the sky
