Willy before the frame window,
the shadow of the building across him,
stands two metres tall, headless,
sky bending on the sheet glass / a sparrow hawk
catches a moment, there,
like the crayfisherman's boat in the bay..
All day Boeings fly past the office,
and local knowledge, once, is knowledge of the streets of Ur.
Projectiles (that dream again) trace streams of discrete
points.. (thus purely - he feels abstract lines
the way Gaudier-Brzeska carved Pound,
like a lighthouse.. or the lure of Puanga's cast).
Put an X-section through a jet on finals -
here - Willy's in suspense