Face

Quiet is the space

In which the action has occurred

For it is full of

Movements which had their place there

And now, even whilst the cat, sniffs

The air, brushing its tail on the loose

Dirt, something of the memory lingers

When a man crouching on his stick

Took a blade and swept the ground

Clear, then shifting a little proceeded

In his work



Appearing in his work

Now for the first time as if from

Out of the past, and now dignified

In his work, he looks up,

But the other man does not greet him

So he continues, this man.

This black man of Bristol.