a pocketwatch, a packet of fags,
a promise that today
would be beautiful, who knows
why it isn't so, the god
of the trees, the woman
in the shop, maybe even I,
it's not that we would wish
it not, even a beggar
needs a penny and a cup
of something for the road, no
it's something altogether
strange, unlooked for,
otherly, that we see each day
in a mirror, a vision
of a life half-lived,
half-grasped, reflection
of an unknown world