Items of no
particular day
swarm down—

moves of the mind
that never quite
make it as poems:

like the way
you take me aside
and leave me

by the water
with its waves
knitted

like your sweater
like your brow;
moves of the mind

that take us
somewhere near
and leave us

combing the air
for signs
of change,

signs the sky
will break
and shower down

upon us
particular
ideas of light.