I slow down
In search of my pencil cap
I hear the singular warbler
I hear
And then see
Another aeroplane
I hear
But don’t see
The cars on the coast road
This is a well trod path
One day a little child
May come across my pencil cap
And may ask its parents
What sort of person
Might have left this here
The child’s parent
If mindful, and imaginative
May tell a story
Of the old man, from far away
Who came here one day in winter
To write, and take photographs
In his excitement, also due to
His inability to do two things at once
He lost the pencil cap
And no matter how slowly
He walked the muddy path
The cap was not found, until today
