The winds of change are blowing over the hills and storm clouds gather with momentum

For a moment we stand on the bridge

And look at the torrent below us

We observe the destruction caused by the gale

Before taking shelter under the bridge

Like transients we pick meat from a carcass

On a polystyrene tray

I dream of the archer and Aphrodite

Making out to the sound of tubular ...

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Pavane

When I am a sculptor, famed

in the shadow of Moore or

Hepworth, I shall fashion

in black marble an image of eternity;

Aphrodite shall dance a slow pavane

without her customary passion, and

shall shine within the foaming waters

of this brutal and ungodly Earth.

Chris Hubbard

Budapest

2016.

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