i watched a wet cormorant on a rock in a tide pool,
her drape wings seeking heat from the bleak october.
and at noon i thought of you at your grandmother’s funeral,
in the miniature jewels of the yew tree, beneath lichen fur.
i imagined you in your annie hall get-up, cradling a clutch of gerbera,
in a ransacked mackintosh knotted just so, explaining your hips.
i pictured your nyloned ten percent legs
and i thought of you as a sparrow in a hedge;
felt the drum roll rain on mum’s sombrero of death.
remember the poem you read when we met
– of the bird pulling the worm from its bed?
did you consider these lines again today,
in the rain, with your beautiful daisies.
i will have to ask you later.