How Fine This All

It was a stillness in the little park.

An aeroplane was heard, for it was near.

There was remembrance of one’s being here

A coldish day, in afternoon and dark.

The day’s strewn paper’s worthy of remark:

The way a child would suddenly appear,

And have his yell profoundly interfere

With sky up there: through sound, less calm, less stark.

What matters sky then lumpish and away.

How right it was that yell was present, too,

If sky’s great show is absent, let one shout:

This moment’s sky is of a bluer day.

Our space is showing all that it can do.

How fine this all we surely must find out.