Music plays and we’re with friends,
drinking wine and drinking beer;
Andrew’s there, it’s not too late,
and mouths are jabbing me, me, me
when Andrew stiffens, widens eyes
hunting, hunting for a feel
of background music rising free
- he’s noticed, listen, noticing
some music that is soaring off
and both his feet are rising, rising:
floating in a pulse of sun
while you and I are thrashing, thrashing,
thrashing through the frost.
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