Last Night On The Heath

It seems useless to expect the future
will be anything like the past.

Nothing is ever
the same. Every cell in these bodies
dies and is reborn
every seven years. And besides
there is only the moment.

You took me to a Grand Samurai
rotting where he has fallen. Goethe said that

architecture is frozen music.
Crumpled in warm muddle we're unconscious
to anything else but
completion. Searchlights

scan the void above. A city at night, watched from afar.
Dank scents of earth, all undulation. Hidden

inside each other
no-one will find us, until

we fall apart, blinking.
Wet with birth, we spend the rest of our lives

trying to comprehend this separation.