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Contents Page: July 1, 2011, vol 7 no 2

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Dru Philippou



eddying river
washed by city lights
in lonely evenings
how far back
the mind roams

Our black cab weaves its way through the backstreets of London, taking the fastest route possible to the Royal Festival Hall. A flock of birds turns as one over palace and cathedral. In the park, cherry blossoms, in full pink, lightly spin above the ground. A woman pushing a stroller seems not entirely sure of the way. Pressing gently on the breaks, our driver comes to a stop at a red light, and I am lulled by the steady hum of the diesel engine. Then, round an island the cab accelerates, and our bodies brush against each other for the first time. Suddenly, the driver pulls up along the embankment. We clamber out into the twilight, clutching our balcony tickets.

poised in air
cymbals shimmer
at the slightest touch
myriad sensations
sweep through my body


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