She poached my shot
out of the Pompidou
towards Sacré Coeur
framed by window slots
white scaffolding
slender roof sculptures
I spun away
pocketed my compact
avoided the line
of her telephoto
Later, she smiled.
15 I'd say,
a gingerish plait wrapped around her forehead
freckles
loose top
blue jeans –
looking for angles
reflections
~ ~ ~
You said one thing
seven times
in your Roget way
and slammed in
sideways cross-references
to give breadth –
there's a year of thought
between words 23 and 24
You are your work
HB without the B
Did we ever talk about blood?
Someone recently asked me about blood
perhaps I should ask you