Summer Evenings like These...

No power tonight – no
lights, no TV, no radio –
the phone, off its cradle; wafts
through my open window
the chatter of martins, sitting,
gossiping on the wire.

Blithely they dart and dive – skim
the surface of the pond
where golden orfe, mouths
agog, play tag in and out
the lilies – custard cupped.

Snatching a drink, upwards
they fly, ripping the silk
of a Bondi-Blue twilight;
gliding on the wind, splicing
the silence of a soft,
suburban Sunday. Swoop,
dip – dare to rendezvous
mid-flight; as lovers do...perhaps
for a fleeting kiss.

But this is not the time
to philosophise...erase
from my mind, axioms
of Euclid – only to marvel
at the triangularity
of their darkling wings.