Rain falls all over the park. Sensibly booted feet
walk the circumference of the old firs, scenting earthy pine. Across the grass
roll big tractor wheels, the grass is kept short all year. On the green the
yellow-brown patched leaves show bright.
By the afternoon clouds are blown through, the sun
reaches warm, a touch of summer: as though it says to us, do not forget me,
I do not forget you.
Daylight darkles. One star is up, is told a wish.
Three quarters of a moon crowns silver white, from the belly of night. Backlit
clouds hold out, soft as blankets.
Somewhere underneath a car pulls to the road edge.
The driver leans down to find what is tapping her boot
heel.
Finds one child's sock and one lost Buddha figurine.
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