The view down Sacramento Street aligns
today. The garbage cans like fences edge
the boundary of yard and street. Designs
of linearity are drawn with hedge
and pepper tree, while arrowing ahead
of me recede the blocks of old concrete:
a seam of squares from white to almost-red
appear a tiled path beside the street.

I run an elementary exercise,
and try to notice everything I see.
I fit a wedge attention in my eyes
to lodge a focus into memory.
So full existence is, my portion’s small
but too immense for me to see it all.