The branches on a malformed
beech will snap off, any second.

Just for a moment, I see no one.
On the path, behind some bushes,
I now hear girls chatting
and the rattle of a push‐chair.

It's October, first day of GMT.
The sun gets a moment
low in the sky, 
cuts into the side of my eyes,
eyes that are too sensitive.
I've only got one pair of eyes.
I don't argue.
Here comes the rain.