If I were to engineer a blind here
obscuring all of this bright summer’s day,
and thru the tiniest chink, like Vermeer
or Newton, a memory-spectrum display.
In these lines discern: a season’s first swim,
long lilac hedges, the noise of golden bees,
that black dog I meet and meet again,
& beneath my pram the old dog still dreams.
The mud on your knees, that high yellow flame.
Oranges in Cordoba where we drank wine
gorged green olives and danced once again…
Ha, now my neighbour’s blowin Summertime
on his sax. What’s that? A simple sum explains
(plus winter’s end & sprinklers’ silver rains).