faint after-image of aeons ago
We sit together on this stone bench
examining Palaeolithic bits and bobs
hefts and hafts and carved things
coal-granite umbrous reckonings
fashioned to be skulls or leaping stag
or any number
of symbols comprising our pantheon
of shared potency – our cups, clubs,
staves, and swords, our bulls,
crows, arrows, eyes, and roses,
Later, outside, both of us cross-leggèd
on an Afghan shawl
under the shade of a plane tree
in Russell Square, we empty our pockets.
Phones, business cards, keys, and coin.
It is the coin of course which pique–
Your finger lingers on the
impression of a two-penny piece
“A fleur de lis”
Yes, of tears & death
Your finger roves on
A pound coin
a dragon paw raised
what god what devil what wisdom–
misogyny, my love.
We both sigh and give
up looking for a time at Symbols
and eventually he raises himself to leave,
go by his way.
A wave too is a kind of metaphor.