On An Evening

A moment clear.

Oh, To Be Back At The Canteen!

I’ve not been here in fucking ages!

Fingertip-fixed; floating.

A live reading of “At The Entrance Of The Afternoon” & “A List Of Things I Noticed At The Harbour”.

Storm Eunice.

Shattering the feedback-loop!

I’m trapped at home again.

That’ll be distracting.

In one ear ‘n out the other.

I told her of the stag of memory; of th’earth; of private moments lived; of th’night.

With gracile step, agilic poise, ‘n purity he’d leapt from th’dark off to my right-side.

I see myself still strolling.

Lapped waves wash, broken-crested – I am young.

T’was o’er ‘n through this coastly scene we traced the tracks of mem’ry.

I perform great feats.