I catch little bits and pieces
like krill in a net made for bigger fish–
noticed by chance but as present as mist
in the places where clouds form.

Olives on sticks, buds on treetops
overspread from the chatter of crowds
who in currents of traffic meander,
neither aimful nor aimless nor calm.

Sun made present for now,
and so the torrents will show
and the walking is slow,
not that speed is important;

The population straightens up
as if to show for the sun,
as if the clouds were unspun
to unravel all tensions
and break down the denser threads.

So girls turn in dresses with floral prints–
all their purples and greens and their scents–
perfumes pirouetting with pollen–
awakened in lively spins.