Between the bursts of sudden pelting rain

thin ray of rare and welcome sun pricks out,

shines sharp on you

as you walk past the theatre —

a male voice speaks out clear

Hello

Oh, hi there? you reply — slow up, look back, around

Dark-clad man near the marquee, in shadow

something cradled in his hands

Setting up for evening's show, perhaps?

He meets your eyes, then smiles

You're beautiful, he says

Thank you! that's so kind

How strange to hear yourself at once — at once! say that

Not ever what you say — not thank you, and not kind

Not to a stranger, yet those five words come swift

Feel true upon your lips

You just . . . look great, he says

He frees a hand, raises it . . . saluting greatness?

And then — your wilful hand goes up!

you wave, you smile

No real pausing has occurred, you're moving on

You're moving on

You're moving

Something was moving

in that random moment

More moving, maybe, than it should be

More moving inside

More feeling felt —

but still, you're moving

moving quickly

and now, already

you are so very far away

The rushing cars move too

Grey wind moves in the trees

The trees move, moan

The shrieking, courting crows move up above

keen to plummet down and hit you on the head

their very favourite springtime move

Time moves