Willy in the evening wore gold leaf
and stared at me from the bower (where his hair blew)
like a glass paperweight
..a paste-up of urban time, empty space,
and money (their images)
Willy fills the page with mint
jeunesse.. In the blue avenue
every unusual bird is out of sight,
trees clutter and fray,
each birthday is a poplar..
and the boat's bell rings..
for Willy, S, and the satellites.