i thought i had an eleven-thirty appointment

luckily i checked, it's next tuesday at eleven

my mind has been like that lately, a little off

today is suddenly free-ish, work, of course

there is something i want to think about, and will

it has to do with brussels and a composer, and 

a boy and a girl—and i will think about it

i will think about it, i'm guessing, while sitting

outside, under the shade of a yellow umbrella

in our little backyard, at our little cafe table

i may or may not be alone—marketa

and/or birds may or may not be with me, or

me them—i know that my thoughts will flit

and be elusive, such is the nature of the subject