Or consider the way we twine our hands
Under the wooded night air
So tight as if they might be chopped at wrist
By an up-sprung axe unshackled
From the bleeding roots.
Or the way you search my face as you kiss
Deep enough to know what makes
The leopard’s blood leap
From spot to spot
And lean back, wounded cub,
Shaking at the thoughtv This was the rumoured future
We forfeited
At assigned gatherings and waiting halls
Arrivals and departures
Where the spirit balked
And braced
Without hope.
And we walk the back alleys
Of this accidental town
Past darkened doorways
And shimmering windows
Between parked car
And empty little restaurants
From future and past
Return
By land, sea and air
By sleight of hand
And turn of phrase
To this wholly present
Moment of grace.

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