On a tall morning,
by a river bank bulging
with Bluebells and Forget-me-nots
he watches the dew drop

and slowly dry. He sees
green hands range through
the slats of a crooked metal seat,
smeared with bird lime and algae,

to stake a claim
on their chance of sun.
The sultry smell of new growth
skins him with lush kisses.

With deliberate, blind breath
he sits, innocent again,
and hears the day skip by like a stone
skimming across the broad slow water.