lately and (lightly also) we travel
in the space of sunny afternoons
speaking echoes in the brittle air.

through old stone halls we unravel
lazy words and half-forgotten tunes –
old Memory, sad erratic snare

snapping when least expected
leaves delicate hallucinatory pain
and the beauty of brooding clouds,

dark, full. Grey rolling hills infected
with electricity and a monolithic rain
over us all, shrouds

of noise on the tin roof (but ah, sweet).
lately too when morning reappears in a shaft
of light the world outside is in full swing

felt through the resounding pulse of a heartbeat;
so like an oarsman on a fading raft
I turn, and smile, and out-of-tunely sing.