T O M    M A N D E L       S H A P E D    A L L    W A Y S

A N N E X    P R E S S    2 0 1 5

The grass dissolves beneath my feet
I cast my glance along the street

Shop signs turn to rust
Minds compact to dust

The past is gone, it can’t be beat
Tomorrow’s next, I feel its heat

Big wind, little gust
Oh future, be just

Spinoza wrote of what to trust
So did Sextus Empiricus

Strange triumphs that follow defeat
Around the corner I retreat

It’s only you I want to meet