there are shapes everywhere

The shape of the sunlight cutting up your arm
The shape of stone 
The shape of things to come
an owl’s rug-coloured call

It’s just I cannot cope
with the sway of your dress,
             this soft surveillance
the cup
             it reminds me of a small duck
I sip it near the gallery
run my fingers along the
cutlery

It is good to meet you

as rain begins and umbrellas
open at once across the city