rising to the sun
on the changing shed (gentlemen)
one geranium in the green pool danced
red
walking the asphalt tennis court
phthisic in jeans
i felt the green trees
all around
broad ashes brandishing sanctity
i have learnt well the anonymity of faces
and only in places where leaves whisper on the brown gravel
or engulf shrubbery at the end of autumn
the traces of those i know
gain memory
before fading like the smoke
of an ancient cigarette
they will remain longer
in a still room on the afternoon side of the house
sun shafting through one window
but as the grey curls upward
it is reduced to
a faint stale smell