Not Knowing the Time

And first I put a little air in the tyres,
and almost without thought took off my watch.
And then the October air, and the joy of balance.

And a nod to a person I knew, who was going somewhere,
and a word to a person I knew, who carried a paper
and looked at his watch, and walked at the green man's bidding.

I rested the bike on a verge, and lay in the shade,
in the midst of the grass, the dusty delicate heads,
a long time looking upwards and lying still.

A long time looking upwards and lying still.
The airy foliage, the dry October leaves,
trembled and spun against a moving sky.

And then I turned over, to see the world under the grass:
the empty spiderways, the tortuous streets and plazas.
A solitary motion there, the last of the summer crowd.

A long time lying still and living in the grass,
like a mouse or deer on the sea-floor, or bright
fish drifting and steering among the crowns.