Elizabeth Williamson



Somewhere there’s a cafe
in which we never met
to share coffee, nerves, beginnings
discovery that we dance to the same drum

Here is a bottle of wine we didn’t drink
outside some late summer evening,
where the barbecue sparks met the stars
and ideas for the world flew up between us

There is a space on my table
where we didn’t spread our plans
for gentle revolution
compassion and a future

Here is a missed heartbeat
for the stranger who can never be my friend