I shall remember the pleasure of walking together.
A wild vociferous symphony of leaves
rose for us, and filled the air for us,
as we entered the hanging garden of the Common.
Brute age was there in an old tree split by lightning,
that still maintained its vigour next to the ground.
After a time we came to the outskirts of heaven.
Beyond it lay an old familiar landscape,
a dusty vista harbouring a newness . . .
the noise of the distant cars was the voice of the sea.
Two body-minds reached out and half-met there
upon an edge, interlocked in magic.
Ah but my words! Why did they suddenly drown
the soft-sung, soft-flung beauty of a first journey?
What have I wrecked? What undiscovered story
of song and silence will not now be told?
A breath, a breath was all. But a shared breath
can add a loveliness to lonely days.
I shall remember the pleasure of walking together.

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