Hickory Dickory Dock Poem by Brian Taylor

A girl pedals.
A boy with the dream of her shirt in his eye
rides the metal carrier behind,
pressing her feet down with his.

An individualist stays within call.

My shoe cushions a small Chinese forehead
pressing down her eyes
for money.

Another kneels her black passin
into the sand
fingering a tin,
shells she has
collected to sell.
Her child rubs dirt
into the bright stripes of his shirt.

Bird song bird
thing-word-thing
sand-me-sea.

One between two
so that nothing’s seen
without involving all the rest:
she, pressing eyelids,
he, with prosperous vest,
leading all the world in
as their relatives.

This remembered and puzzled in sala-shade
where I had come
to meet and be alone with my friends
one between two
(involving infinity) –

when the sun burst into rubbery fire
through the smoked glass of waving branches
at the wind-open western side,
negating aloneness
(or any other kind of activity) ,
taking the form out of things
and giving glorious light,
swelling the colours on the bananas
until they stained the plate.

(Destroying a world of physics
with one splash.)