Lilac jacaranda under blue and gold: in this pacific paradise, you’re kicking stones and humming as the city drops away below. A Cuban trumpeter trails flat orange notes. You spin me round by fountains splashing carmine Carmenere. I’m ecstatically serene. It’s raining rainbows.
“Look at them!” you say: two children kissing on a plant pot. “They’re finding their own way in love.”
Like we will, in the southern sun.
“Like I will,” you say, to yourself, “One day.”
I struggle after you in the high heat. Did I hear right?
“But not yet,” you say, to the stones, “Not yet.”
© Joanna Rubery 2017