I
For some, the relation between the body

       and external objects is unclear, even

       when buds are underfoot.
For others, it’s the symbolism of the vase

       they fail to grasp.
For both kinds, the gap in understanding is

       an effective tactic

       to avoid censure.
For some, the vase marks the point

       where the room ends

       and nature begins.
For others, the petals imply

       a garden.
For all, a change of scene

       has dramatic value.
For some, the flowers use the vase

       to express themselves.
For others, the scatter of porcelain

       describes a constellation.
For other still, it’s not the fear of

       disapproval but of thorns

       that stops them chewing the stems.
For some, the water links the past

       to the present.
For others, it’s a symptom of debts unpaid.
For none does any of this

       signify your second

       thoughts.
                    II
                                                            Do your ideas

correspond to the things around you? Picture

her lying here, for instance, writing
                 ‘one is the start of the pattern

                  two is just where it reveals itself’.
Shoulder clefts and an ill-timed blush.

A season of pauses. Nearby a gentleman

plums in his mouth, thinking ‘not all answers

                                                      are excuses’.

                                         Outside

you draw yourself up by the pond, still

in darkness or almost. The burrow discloses

an ambling mound, snuffling over

the threshold, thinking on what should’ve

happened yesterday, thinking ‘if not

why not?’ Only the curtain sees both sides

but––versed in discretion more than framing––

gives little away. Picture the parlour, then, with

she and he and a bearlike presence, where all

it takes is a careless glance

a sudden clutch of hearts, and a vessel

older than empires

meets its demise. The wombat jogs off

and no one is thinking ‘an iris

is also a flower’ or ‘regret is only a prelude’.

Light rain at daybreak. She is writing
                              ‘three is

        when it gets interesting’.