tonight, i would like to
climb st paul's hill, watch the moon rise from
those ancient walls
over the straits of malacca.
will you come with me?
we could sit
and talk about anything we liked
ships, perhaps, also sealing-wax.
but i would like it if
there were periods of silence, which
we felt no need to break
because being contentedly quiet together
is the acid test of kindred spirithood.
we might hear the sound of laughter float up
from the temples of modernism below
perhaps, a tang of sea-salt on the wind from the west
and soul would reach out to soul
atop the battlements of grey stone.
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