And so he began. And for the first time saw
the boy whose bicycle sped by his porch,
then the yellowing leaf on the back step.
He saw a cloud bank in his rear view mirror,
and followed the winding glide of the crack
in the sidewalk he took to the grocery
where he saw the woman in the bakery
look down, then touch her eye; the way
his wife’s hair spread across her shoulders
in the photo on the top of the television,
the picture’s frame chipped in the lower left
corner. Stars; the moon; the scarred cutting board:
the way the light fell across the bed.