Now the Good Minute Goes

A cool distorted shadow

signs the brick;

nicks over a plantain;

dayshift; moth-pass; dazzle-spot;

stolid tick of gaudy Swatch.

A Reebok treads awkwardly on the kerb,

risking sprain.

There is a pure

time to bless

existence per se.

Girders and sparrow hawk.

Take nought

for granted.

You will be given nothing but this one life

and will praise it roundly

learning to rejoice

as it goes off

like the white frail

satellite of a dandelion

lovingly uplifted by breezes

over paddock or park

for a blind, lingering instant

which is all it cannot know

against the blue.

Structure

24 lines · 3 stanzas