The memory of Alice trembling- for India
All around the wind was a Switzerland
At the duckpond India was an Alice falling.
She fell to the reach of no rabbit - alas a goose
& a flock of geese. Look – she paled like
Alice who was written by Lewis – those geese
Are the look of nappies - & where do they carry
Their hands. Being just a metre & a bit is not
Much. Nor much of a stretch. Even as she spoke
the lake was all fake. & up high where the clouds
loosened lo! A moon of a thing on the go & a sun
to boot. The willows which grow goodenough near water
were corkscrew & shedding. About were the cuts of
skateboards or the scooter & the asphalt on the hills
& the rollerblades turning over. Through the mesh in a fence
I kid you not – a lion. Near where the lines for
Sweets or the people cooking their squid stood.
A lion of a thing in the deepest of any park is a mess.
& Alice rose – tired from her drop & began on her thumb –