Saturday was lamentable.
Achievement lost in a frenzy of cold noise,
Tears to the fabric of a toga virilis,
Underwhelment.
Rainclouds of steel grey absorb and release,
Drenching aspirations and control.
Afar, hints of something brighter
Yearn for opportunities.
Sunday lit the hidden fire.
Under wet leaves, slept the tinder of creativity,
Novelty for which the appetite always burns.
Delicate metaphor melts upon an animated tongue,
Air itself tastes better.
Yesterday is gone with the passing clouds.
[After Just Before You Leave, Currie/Harvie 2002]
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