Redux 2

Twenty years ago we lay on camp beds here,
at midnight on the bumpy grass,
supine, our saucered eyes scanning a star map sky,
fleeting Perseids teased our stare
our friends proclaiming, keeping score
“there’s one”.

Now everyone has gone
and we are back to heal the past,
with apologetic sticking plaster vows,
but they are gone
and will not return to hear confession.

So here we are, an age past,
to offer ourselves up, naked once again,
holding hands, awaiting
cosmic teleportation or redemption,
both afraid neither will come, or worse
only one of us will ascend to the stars.

A bristle of a breeze feathers our bodies
and makes us more afraid
until the balm of mild darkness returns
and we set off to cross the rubicon.


© Graham Sherwood 8/2013