“At the Flood”

 

I remember our first night together,

camped on the floor at your sister’s,

the fire snapping and cackling

like a squab imp beside us.

I could barely see you in the gloom

of shadows wavering up the wall,

but watched your kind eyes smile.

Next day we climbed the Hill

to clear our heads, and our cold breath

caught into eddies and swirls.

It scares me to think you were

too shy to ask to meet again;

and if I hadn’t blurted out

in my impulsive way, those few hours

might have ebbed, not

surged on into a turbulent flow

towards here, this room, this laughter.

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