days of summer

i've taken, in these days of summer
to some small and idle thoughts
writing notes upon the water
fraught with curlicues, and flourishes
deep into the mystery of the 4th street pond

but i cannot keep at bay
the jiggling minutes, of the hours
slipping, sliding
and when i turn to read your name
it's gone, and so i wonder
if by walking backward, step
by step, collapsing into seconds
that might still be caught

and so i wonder, if i reach
behind me, will the after noon
perhaps fall back, and i can
read my hobby of regret, so
recently acquired, that should be
cherished, even relished
but i'm all bound by habits
mysticked, twined inside
like spiders

i've taken, in these days of summer
to skipping like a schoolboy
between the evening shadows
bouncing down the alley ways
chased by city smells, fanciful
angry scents, singing city tunes
in my schoolish tenor

and whenever i find waters
puddled, or discarded
shared with dogs and wandered
seekers, i stop to write
so i will know
that i am here