So many things I have not seen
and yet so much I have.

Take purple for example,
I have seen it drape its naked self
devoid of shame across an aubergine,
observed it one evening leave first
the table of the setting sun
shuffle like a homeless man
then roll slow into the sea.

Of course I missed the crowd
(or was that me in my ancient guise?)
when the rule of Rome
threw down the purple and the thorns
the robe and the crown
volcanoed the library of history
echoing still from town to town.

I never witnessed Gandhi
shake the hand of faith
or saw the streets of Arles
through Vincent's eyes,
and Pavlova dying as the swan
died before I knew my name.

So many things I have not seen
and yet so much I have.

I once espied memorials
wrinkled on a mother's face,
saw a child of cloud
lost as a summer snowflake
roam the desert sky
and a seagull walk a tightrope
thin as air and then trapeze
into a somersault without a net.

All this I discovered in one day,
a day for beholding.