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He stands in the shallows
    Of the yard, where the air
Swims, fresh and cool,
    Over the short grass and
The green mesh fence.

Dappled light plays over
    His brown bucket hat
And the blue and white
    Sailor's collar, and over
His tan corduroy pants.

His white hair moves as
    Candyfloss moves in
The turbulent, bright air
    Of a fairground. His
Head jerks sporadically,

As though he glanced from
    Place to place,
Unsure of where the grass,
    The shrubs, the wood
Leant upon the garage wall

Should be ; as if his
    Catalogue of this small
Territory had been lost,
    And he made a thorough
Survey. Giant green maples

Rear above him, their
    Long, trailing branches
Weighted with starlike
    Flowers. Their volume
Seems a validation to him.