TIME AND MOTION
The wheel of the wheelchair, slewed a little sideways
Looks like a spinning wheel, a wheel of fortune
A union of things, a reconciling;
But it has moved, the scene is shifting.
“A wheelchair user” – could be to bring home shopping
Or charge at inconsiderate cyclists yelling
The wheel is latticed by strong light and by shadows.
The aircraft rests, the wing is a fine sculpture
Voluptuous, a curve and line creation
The aircraft flies, at height in the blue sky the wing, though glittering
Vanishes in the implacable mark of movement.
The sharp white rose has grown to these red berries
That look like spots of blood or scattered jewels
Though they will fall and rot, the rule of briars
Spreads over the abandoned ironwork of the quarry.