Ian Anderson

A week of moments ??“ a clutch of days ??“
Ten thousand minutes of a Passion Play.
Medley of quavers informs the tune.
It??™s all too much: over all too soon.
Sweet condensation on chilling wine
Traveler??™s palm, flamboyant tree
Fast photos ripped and lost consign
A week of moments to faint memory.
A week of moments plucked from the page
Found far horizons, a sunset stage.
Suitcases bulge, in silence packed
A chapter closed: no looking back.
The lightest touch upon my arm
No fierce restraint, no call to stay.
Hushed room maids glide like pawns to king
With pool attendants in chess piece array.