My elbow rubs against the banana plant next to me as I capture the scene in my sketch book. The trunk of the tree draws my attention: a white knot-hole of a missing limb becomes all important to me. It whorls out over the page with my pencil.
The shadows in the street cross each other, and the solidarity of the sidewalk runs hard over the bottom of the scene.
My pencil scratches against the paper.
I have been careful to leave room to write this between my rendition of the pole and the tree trunk:
The contrast between
Metal and wood wounds my eye
On this summer night