Kensington Gardens 1966

That morning
the Serpentine held grey shards of sky.

Beneath a steely radiance,
we walked through the dark tracery of trees.

Thoughts, filaments of mist,
trailed about us.

Stones, statues, bridges
were cold, vast chunks
from some huge, shattered berg.

But our words were blown glass
and rang with truth.

Now, if we were to meet again,
we would be strangers -

but for that morning.

© 2008 Geoffrey Dobbs