from the outside, another's life is gaps,        fragments and elisions
          the intermittent                     flux of data
    & we too are mysteries to ourselves    our own lives also
              fragments, gaps and elisions, long periods    
                        of unremembered texture
    cut across with vivid or half-brilliant    memories
returning to hit us    depth-charges or bombs,
     & soft wash of green landscapes     such as when
                                             I thought I heard
                     laughing in the garden