Ambrosial Interludes

A rose by any other name – photo by Ahmad Mohammadnejad on Unsplash

Who am I to you
and you and you and you
and every other world
within a world assumed

to be or not

to be like us – consumed
as we all scuttle through
the debris of our jungles –
scrap and spat and strive

and struggle up for air,
for higher calls or canopy views,
for time to steal
or stop and stare,

for quiet ambrosial interludes?

To capture a moment, cleaved out of space
(plucked from this shabby continuum
of so many shocks and achievements)
to slip from the race

to be released – is this our far edge of peace?

To return to the riverbank mayfly-rare
each to a state of adoration raised,
swimming golden in unfettered splendour
we shimmer upstream in fleeting play

in lush exaltation held fear
- lessly there
and now, right here
and sinuously now: