It’s heavy and light;
Damp and warm.
Open your palm wider:
It’s vast and floating.
At noon it’s blue;
Orange by five.
Birds flew by at dawn. A wing brushed my thumb,
Tickled.
I place it down in the sink and watch it under the taps:
The rain is contained in its edges, but
Clouds shadow the porcelain.
It thundered on Thursday
Turning the hairs up on the back of my hand.
I don’t know when it fell, but
I found it whilst planting tulips.
Maybe it was nudged, knocked down for me.
A peep hole for you
The Notebook 