Five friends spent the
scant hours between coming from
one place and going to the next
practicing transience:
they are young
one stands on the grass of an
ouroboros and the others wonder
if she should do that, they
weren’t allowed to walk on the
green of Trinity College,
only admire. What
is the weight of a city?
It’s grit or history?
The bus driver’s jokes?
This castle was built eight hundred years
ago to keep out the Vikings.
That spire was erected five years
ago to show what men can do.
The friends wander trying to find a
bar, someplace atmospheric.
The rain threatens but holds.
Soon it will not be this way,
they will step from the edge of
time, build houses, grow old.
They walk back toward the bus station
to leave and cross the river,
humming silent and heavy
as a churchyard beneath.
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