'No painting is possible without poetry'
Po Kin Yi (9th C)*
 
Eyes in the feet
Wherever, whenever,
Pocketed, brought home,
Shaped under tea's chemistry
Left on paper sketchbook thin
Enough to register on both sides
Where the roller has marked,
Capriciously, a backdrop
Always different, pavement grey,
Mottled, complex as storm clouds
on a winter sky. Then, the stitch.
Marks of a bird's foot
Perfectly pricked
On the footpath's mud,
We crouched close to view
In the last light of this fading year.