Poem 78

Another Miramar summer evening poem (see Poem 8) … 

( old photograph air captures just the right shade of sunset sepia I think … )

Briefly Perfect

Black city your hills
black city your hills are following me

with my new pair of binoculars
I follow someone's pigeons
racing round the valley flicking
dark back up the slopes
I look for humans
and find a woman either doing tai chi
or taking the washing in
a man sweeping his flymo across the lawn
like a great pendulum

the pigeons invade
veering back and forth never hitting each other
rapid and sure in the heavy old photograph air of evening
a day that was too hot
now briefly perfect

they're cooped all day
while my time is my own
but I envy the pigeons
you have to wait for this kind of moment
then have bones light enough
to use it