If my routine met your afternoon
on a Thursday after tea and macaroons,
I swear my fringe would curl
and frills would justify the opportunity.

It’s not everyday one trudges along
and stumbles on a hollyhock uncommoner
of camaraderie, nor is it fanciful to assume
one will again.

What I’m about to say has nothing to do
with tea or cookies or anything as grand as miracles.
It’s simply to show how a curious mind
can jump from a single thought
to a simpler one in less than thirteen seconds.

It may not make a difference to anyone, high or low,
on mountaintops or beneath the driving sea.

It may not matter to folks in the middle of March
or children on a crowded avenue of limes, legumes, or jujubés.

I seem to be caught
between a boardwalk by the boulevard
and a blow of cold Canadian air,

wondering aimlessly
yet strangely preoccupied
with the sight
of snowy white and honking geese