Sunday 1 May 2022



Now and then,

you just get lucky.


Beside that ocean,

under the sun,

I swung in a hammock

—my little protest to rains and bugs to come.

My little win.


I thought of you; of us

—that little win we had



between the insects,

between the lions eating baby deer alive,

between the human wars,

between sore backs and sleepless nights

and jobs and bills and cancers and death

and petrol prices,

between the loneliness of how it was before we met

and how it’s now,

between all that:

moments in time

we searched each other’s eyes

and found the thing.

Our hammock.

Our protest to rains and stings to come.


Our feather in the wind

doomed to be undone




still afloat



in the mercy of history

and memory. 








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