here on the night watch,
all is quiet , no birds sing.

touched by the small thing,
softly, we drew together,
with words, and gestures
in air, in mind.

told them about joan and they said they had to go, get home


later I heard they liked her despite the startled look


she was drawn again yesterday

so joan will be
revered

if the pencil slips
she will remain
ignored

the ******* the bus had some, in blue though,

and i admired them while thinking that they will be fine for a more senior person.

then before the film that monday I visited the market, bought some much the same in red.

found some suitable socks and wore them to town

all comfy  and overwhelming in their newness.

yet I guess no one noticed, only me.

oh.

day of small things,
slowly steadily worked
as we rest the dust motes,
shine as gold.

their house was
down by the stream that
ran the side of the road

nice little house.

who knows what goes on there.