He seemed to be in the grove,
Where the eye meets dot.
Press send,

I said passing him
On the cross between Strand and Fleet.
Acknowledged as friends
Amid the bright din
A delete with unknown horn yet.
Wasted was this breath to stop his melody,
As he turned
As quick
Into traffic:

Walked across the road in front
The watch he had still watched
A world on its axis stopped
The flame was bright still and he fought
Then gave a rattle, a rally,
A man approached
The shoe travelling,
An air of hostility in flight
A vision.
Behold it scream.