I sink to the floor
of the waves within
as outside magpies cackle
rinsing no doubt
their beaks to a shine
as if dipped in tar
after bullying the woodpigeons
who are having their say
as I bet the cat’s ears
are bending in the wind while
bees are surely
having their fill.

And I see that blowing
a dandelion is a freedom
and each wisp is
a moment, drifting.