Today the sound of fans and windmy heart breaking and gathering in the turning air; a racehorse with an ankle turned, tendons like rope, continues even then towards the line, nostrils flared, hay soon and cool, cool water.
The sky is spread with shreds of clouds, the leaves are moving, fluttering, the air winnowing around the tiny furze on the swallowtail’s wing and I sit feeling everything: damp hair falling on my shoulders stems on the table of eaten strawberries small circles of berry stain, pollen scattered from the bouquet of daisies with their bending stems in the glass jar and the way I am uncertain now.
Other things know nothing of this the poplars and the meadow grasses bend and bend and bend again in the wind.