year: 2008
To the metallic snap
Of wind instructing ropes
To beat out a tattoo
With a flagpole for a drum,
We rested, back to back,
Impromptu, on a throne of
Concrete slab by taxi rank.
Our tendons, feeling awkward,
Shifted forwards first then backwards,
Til our curves, fully mirrored,
In this late September not-quite-gale
With just the sun to guide us,
Found their centre, swaying, fused,
Into a single, stolen snooze.