TUESDAY 3
Another open
Bulmer’s bottle by the first,
its twin, on the wall.
WEDNESDAY 4
In the waiting room
we look at photographs from
Jaipur and Agra
THURSDAY 5
The swan boats have been
packed away. The real swan swims
in the space, forlorn.
FRIDAY 6
The single leather
glove, soaked, lifeless, still waits for
someone to claim it.
SATURDAY 7
Two arrows, white on
black boards, point right, eyes against
the bare roadside trees.
SUNDAY 8
The three-quarter moon
shines pearly, buffeted by
wispy, darkened clouds.
MONDAY 9
Past 4 in winter,
meteorological, at
least, sunshine expires.
Seventeen 