I can still feel the drizzle of your fingers
soft as the sea-sand on my face and hair;
some things are gone, it’s now many winters
the fallen leaves are banked in many layers;
there’s half an empty eggshell in the pond
floating next to the water hyacinth;
some kind of plastic scum in faded blonde
choking the small concrete steps and the plinth,
the bricks crumble gently and grow their cracks
and lure in grass and a banyan sapling;
but I can still feel the rain on their backs -
your hands don’t change unlike the other things.
And yes, this is where I’ve chosen to stand
surrender again to rain and your hands.
Totally off-topic, for those interested in my safari pics - there's a video clip in the sidebar. And maybe it's not all that off-topic either, plenty grass at any rate.