i put on the brave face
and go about the mend.

yet still
the nightly nightmare brink,
the daily morning panic shrink

as i go around the bend.
and you,

a spectral lover in the sheets.
not here, not there,

again.

my compass needle,
skewed.

my will to love,
gargantuan

and true.

this fountain, crowned

with summer's regal splendour,

sputters on our bench.

in the shade of birds

fluttering as a sari in breeze,

you fan lashes

over impossible eyes.

watermelon bright, we go

meandering the locks

to aforetime

whilst i

slant up my maps,

tacked to plot the skies,

and am thankful

for the clarity

of our polite englishness.