That moment when we spoke of things

without needing them in front of us,
that was what had us at the fence posts between fields
yesterday in the thunder-threatened sunshine at Rickmansworth.
Frank would have approved of these blades of grass,
there being a handy tube stop close by.
It is so human to use words. Everything became “so human”.
Walking and talking were one (so human) and, like the route
and the kestel, our conversations circled about themselves.
It was pretty good for one of the best days of my life.
The fields have never seen such laughter (so human),
nor the water such gusto as you, slipping down to your undies,
stepped into the ever changing. I photographed you
but really I was taking memories. Your story
(I won’t tell it, you’re going to turn it
into a poem) had me in almost-tears (so human).
It is so human to lean at a fence and survey the scene,
before throwing sticky nature shit at each other.

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