In Whose Blent Air All Our Compulsions Meet : II Poem by Alan Gillis

How the mind drifts, as we mosey along
through brief nights and long walks in public
parks or by shorelines, by the riverside's
crinkled ferns and fronds, traipsing past
hawksbeard and hawthorn, the brambled
hedge-banks of the cindertrack; how the mind,
as the melony sunblaze spangs bangles
over windlebrooke and witch-hazel that waggles
and sways while the breeze blows wild garlic
and you pull your hair back to the music
of the moment; how the mind plays away
and other times and places take shape and surface,
fuse and fester in your mind's shifting frame
you chase through again, and again, and again.