FROM THE HOSPITAL CHAPEL
(c) mmSeason 2000

Baby and I look out
at flat weather architecture
built for function
with offensive dull form
and baby watches young trees dancing,
a sop to form
batted by a damp wind
to brush the colourless sky
in planless formless rhythms.
I watch flat flat puddles
left behind by last night’s downpour
unshaped by lifeless roof forms
now whisked frisked
by this whimsy-wind tickled
into sudden spiky grasping
faces mouths leaping gates
specks of face in a history of faceless.
I have to wait for each next time
raised by the random wind.
In between they lie flat without senses
feelings life
left behind by yesterday’s outpour
no drops falling today
and baby laughs at the tossing trees
reaching to the wide grey.