Even with perfect hindsight we would properly
make a sumptuous mess given all the years again
a cat-and-mouse painting of delightful colour
an elixir of youth to be drunk slowly, and then lived
as we did, we pleasure seeking lotus-eaters
venturing for energy and acceptable gods
and then sending wish-you-were-here postcards
over the hills and everywhere
Isn’t it grand-your life? They ask

The sun had gone round a-twenty when we first
shared a laugh, and in a vestibule
of common fools we’ve made laughter of twenty more,
and song, and tales of lovers that pass by this mecca
like a stream of pilgrims,
and the tears of those who dared to go without a kiss goodbye.
Ours is a piling tower of sudden joys and stubborn stains,
but then, what’s one to do with losses but
bring them to the party, and then pin the tapestry of fullness to a wall.
Isn’t it nice-this life? We would ask

I’d give you another twenty, for over here we ration things,
little by little, later you can come for another score,
a garland of good fortune for the past and
the things we don’t believe in anymore
a bulb of jasmines sewn together to tempt
the night spirits, so they arrange our fates, and re-compose symphonies
bring new light through old windows

People like us live in ways that others can’t
People like us win silent victories
so take a breath, and another sip of that elixir,
and dance to the sound of life as it begins.
There’s so much time still to sing, so much time to laugh,
to the books we’ll read, and the
novels we’ll write,
of each other’s lives, and the lives of others,
and moments like this.

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