A distant tree siphons first light,
Wampoo Pigeons (green back stippled gold,
mauve breast, head white as a lie
convincing you) and four plain female
Regent Bowerbirds rustle the Rusty Fig.
The beads come later in an audit of memory,
aged ten, my bestest TV was Dangerman flying
to exotic foreign parts or behind the Iron Curtain
mocked up in Borehamwood. The Middle East
is riddled with spies and night clubs packed
with music and booze, a chanteuse or Bellydancer
slips through the beaded curtain towards you.