In the lettuce heart
lakes flood and the deep waters
shuffle their slow feet.
This morning on the fence a pigeon perches. It leans forward; looks to right and left; looks down; tilts its head from side to side. What appeals is the parallel with a certain sort of person, fossicking or on the scrounge.
A phrase from Proust which I come across today seems to sum up the adjective "proustian": ... a flagstone almost endowed with thought, un pavé presque pensant...