I sit at the table,
lit by dim candles,
stern hands around a short black
like warming mittens.
I never liked coffee,
the taste too bitter,
but to show my maturity,
I drink it now.
He sits a metre away,
glaring at my gestures.
We talk and talk
about the oceans and seas:
my ageing eyes unsheathe sagacity.
His face is earnest and callow,
a million hues in the iris,
Swirling gently. How spellbinding time is,
that invites such marvellous complexities
to fuse from innocent wonders.
We cry a little and laugh a lot,
strum verses from our agonies,
gold and luminous,
until the flame of time eventually quivers.
Farewell old pal,
it’s time for me to depart.
Like shoes at the door,
I will lay it down:
a scarred body, a trail of art,
a heavy languor no longer mine to bear.
I learn and skip to the rhythm of the wind,
chasing aspirations beyond my sight.
But I will always know that when the gloom sinks in
and my will falters for a moment,
I will return to the table
where plates are filled with memories
and talk about the oceans and the seas,
with the boy that was once me.
