Friday, 13 January 2017
poetry 2017 / 010
We move in circles
testing the other's defences
feints and counters.
We are two cats on a cemetery lawn
fighting for the prize of a broken sparrow
while overhead a crow awaits the outcome.
Like the sparrow, he cares little
for victor or loser
only that the spoils are his.
And what of our spoils?
Friends polarise like iron filings
under the influence of magics
but fundamental frequencies elude us
in the moire pattern of our friendship;
just an old piece of yellowed paper
with the edges curled.