We talk of past and present
In the future tense
Oh heaven sent we have the sense
To look ahead
Not to tear open
For some other scavengers
Not to bear any more their load
More so than their witness
We walk in steps
On quiet pavements
Under stars and sodium lights gathered
We skip across the gaps
To find a flat stone surface
Or a park bench
Or a stream
Just to sit, no more than that, for the moment
To listen to the night time
The silence of the hours
The spoken woken tokens
Of this rounded, founded, rarest love
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