Remember Ben Nevis? Trying to reach the summit,
seeming to take forever until it seemed to take a second,
some song (not heard before or since) playing maniacally on some
instrument in our heads,
or maybe it was just in mine.
Familiar phenomena floating on our descent to the top of transience.
A kite flown by a 90 year old man almost coming down on us.
A day with room for life, a day almost turning to night,
turning instead to the paralysis of an Indian summer sun,
blue symphonies receding forever in the seldom distant distance.
It seemed at times we were locked in a Hammer horror film,
bit part actors alongside Peter Cushing and Ingrid Pitt.
I suppose you would have preferred something starring Audrey Hepburn.
We were trying to reach the summit
but it may as well have been the great Egyptian pyramid,
the entire world operates on a pyramid.
Now you're drawing up a wedding list, listening to Kate Bush.
You want a harp or two, a sitar, some horns,
an infant to kiss, a father to take your arm,
an army of dreamers trailing close behind.
I am busy breathing, swallowing night,
dreaming of Houdini, singing the song of Solomon,
feeling like the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Last I heard you were learning to be invisible
but you were always so see-through, sprawled across the centre of some architect's dream.