One park morning a man pulls on waders.
Really I only
see his shake as he bounces at
his knee to settle the straps over his shoulders.
The only part to make it into my sensorium, firmly,
classically bridging into the assumption of other things.
He scares away most the geese when he
leans down to grasp.
The rest sail glassily away to out of reach of
anything but technology while he
coffee and cigarette and balding and long-poled
gadgets to scrounge missed metal below the water line.
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