Poetry four-hands in Greenwich

I was in London; hadn't seen her in months, but I knew that now she was in Paris. Through my lens, two twenty-somethings, embracing, consecrated a park bench below the Greenwich Observatory; the Prime Meridian lazily bisected the park ten meters away, so I imagined that instead it went right between these two, just like between me and her: such poetry! A fortnight later I would go to her and she would drop me like the hangman pulling the trap -- no! drop convictions like the guillotine's blade on my neck; a fortnight later there would be something interesting in this photograph, another stratum in which the image could fossilize so I, poet-paleontologist, could rebuild it for museum-children with small sharp tools; a fortnight later it would be more than me and these two and the old observatory and the imaginary line and the upside-down London sky and the shutter firing for a half-seen metaphor; a fortnight later, I could write the rest of this four-hands poem.

27 April 2007