Funny how we read even empty
benches in the park as gathering,
huddled, grouped together.

The metal stairs we used to sit on
are honeycombed in structure, rigid
and unyielding, they hold their hollow

hexagons apart. Once we wove the in-
between, spinning the cobwebbed lines
across the gaps in a crazy railway network

map. Funny how you leave a trace on space.
The silver, flattened grass whispers that
here (not long ago) someone lay.