In the Egyptian café in London,
I drank coffee with men smoking hookah.
Draw in, breathe out.

The cup was small,
the coffee harsh. I had
to catch a train from Marble Arch.

A still point, Byzantine, one star
in a galaxy of trillions,
I had to find my friends.

Who cares what happened?
I moved like a bat, darted, skittered
towards the river. An old lady

inching towards her complex screamed
when I tried to help her with her walker.
It was my life. The rooftops fracture.

If I hadn’t jostled the mosaic
maybe I could stop the picture.
Buildings of stirred beach glass.

Cresting sunsets comb
the face, refine the land.
The world goes sad. Like now?

Like now. Even the ancients
felt slips, skips in experience
plotted as mathematical fact.