I walked down Piccadilly, past the

Endless shops, and thought I saw an apparition,

Glimpsed only for a moment, just out of

The corner of my eye. I see these

Sometimes: nothing clear like faces,

Just a little flash of light appearing in

My vision. But this time, I looked, and the

Vision was still there. A wind-wet crowd

Formed, as I stopped traffic. Then the petals—

Windblown on shop windows off and on—

Fell singly down revealing to me a

Single man, unhatted and drenched wet,

Reflected only in the closed black

Of the windows, bent by wind into a bow.