We travellers on the endless wastes
in single orbits gliding
cold-eyed march towards the dawn
behind hard-weather hoods a-hiding.
Meeting as the tall ships do
passing in the channel
afraid to chance a gentle touch
afraid to make
the clasp.
In high-rise city canyons dwells
the discontent of ages.
On ring roads, nose to bumper crawl
commuters in their cages.
Cryptic signals flash across
from pilots in the fast lane
Double-locked and belted in
Too late to make
the clasp.
Let's break the journey now on some lonely road.
Sit down as strangers will, let the stress unload.
Talk in confidential terms, share a dark unspoken fear.
Refill the cup and drink it up.
Say goodnight and wish good luck.
Synthetic chiefs with frozen smiles
holding unsteady courses.
Grip the reins of history,
high on their battle horses.
And meeting as good statesmen do
before the T.V. eyes of millions,
hand to hand exchange the lie
pretend to make
the clasp.