look at the way the sun grabs and holds a side
the building now made complete
with a bird in play, maybe
and its last time here for a while
trees hide the light and it's weird how they don't
speaking gradually "that everything already is"
and time for me/building/bird is a thing of intensities
and a watching that changes,
making poetry of all that is no more
this ghost that we haunt,
infesting every moment with time is
a scratching, like a pearl to an oyster
this is the defence which is beautiful and necessary
and so everyone jogs together past the building and the tree
forgetting the light as they forget themselves in perpetual song
Dundas
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