Master Jacques

In the gleaming bustle of the night Another Harley Queen takes a long, deep breath.

Many poets, prophets, kings and paupers Have chewed on the question in their own time: How long is it, really, Till we savour true, unshakable joy?

There's a place you can go to Whenever you need some peace and quiet With a geometric human-made pond Where ducks and a grey heron choose to live.

Going about your day and scrolling down the media, It might seem that everything that matters Is irredeemably unreliable.

"Has something happened today?"

A thousand faces in the station hall: gleaming, scowling, mocking, scurrying past, through and inwardly in throngs, in pairs or in lonely threnody, always foreign and yet strangely familiar, always remote and yet so intimate, never fully acknowledged but…

Pause: The gentle reeds in the urban breeze Dance for no one in particular But greet all equally Including those who cannot but despise Everyone and everything but their own.

If I should apply To become a forthcoming friend -- or more ambitious still -- Your very best friend, This may be quite the Odyssey In the ever unfolding minutiae Of maturing nearly as one.

Lest Troy should fall a millionth time To trade wars disguised as Romantic feud May we care to hold our hungry horses And instead weave fruitful friendships That last through momentous times Beyond even the sagest memories.

The clouds never cease to sail In a clear sea of sky.