Unbidden

"...for the rest of the day / I pictured a lighter version of myself..." -- Billy Collins

You were telling me
about the primary colours
of the boats on the river,
when I wandered

from your careful paving
of Times New Roman,
into the blank wilderness
of bound pulp,

snatched from the page
by the hunting cluck
of the neighbour's hen,
drifted in on a breeze

of petrichor and pollen,
warmed in a spring sun
that might turn her hair 
to burnt gold

for all I'll ever know.
A tingle in my feet
walks me back
to your banks

on the River Charles,
which I leave face down
to be drowned out
beneath the toilet flush.