I’m on the boating lake with Sean

I’m gently rowing and the birds look sewn

to the surface of the water as it undulates to the sound

of Sean talking beautifully about something

I don’t really understand. But all I’m picturing

are brown paper bags with little grease spots near

the bottom seams that have recorded the way

sausage rolls have touched them, or the thin waists

of dogs as depicted in medieval hunting frescos, or

a cherub’s fat little hand gesturing

to a vista where smiling families are meeting

to picnic with the animals that God

has also saved, or I’m thinking about

the mechanics of bagpipes, the legs and arms

and the fat belly and the long neck with its holes.

This has been the best day ever. Sean smiles.

He’s wearing shorts, and so am I.

It’s sunny! Mine are so short

they may as well be underpants, and I still

don’t understand a word that he is saying.