There were painter’s clouds that day;
broiled and tumbled,
moving inner silence across an easel.
a concrete mind mixed and etched
one long brush-stroke;
the tarmac before us.
Excited engines carried us along
and carried by us
an air befriended…
with the convertible top thrown down
your hair streamed behind
olympic colour; a spectrum of extraordinary.
Your head held back a sunrise laugh
and all the wind
belonged to exhilaration.
Ahead of us, the horizon captured another sky,
a mist-green hail filled sea; that ominous litany.
A pallet knife scratched its lightening
and the danger of no potential
that kept us moving on.