Neurotic

To imagine the coolness of the water,

Cleanness of the air,

Muscularity of emergent fish

Right now, on such a day,

Was like reading a poem;

No mind picture broke the hard bound casing,

Even the merest glimpse a colourised postcard,

At best an artefact.

There’s always that sinking sense of loss

When we are told something, always

The knowledge unformulated that each reporting

bleeds life from that first experience.

This is the way of things.