The Scattering

Gone through the half-hearted window

that gives like a watery eye

onto the East, the blushlight of dawn

on scuzzed rooftops, scrolled hills;

gone over open-mouthed duck ponds,

decked lawns, a populace dreaming

of ordinary sex; gone with limitless texts

through the gridded air’s dataflow,

the wheesht of elm leaves in the air,

a rustling blue polyester blouse;

gone with lost souls, their children

photostreams in the cloud,

indebted and encased in metal

and the motion of their cars past yellow

fields, roundabouts, the dead everywhere;

gone into the excitation of particles

and elements in contact with other

elements and particles like peedie

heads in a primary school playground

rushing away from fathers, mothers:

as I turn away, face the room I’m in,

half of me is already out the window

to chase and meet the scattering day

heading West, as if to say, well, hello.