On summer lunchtimes (sometimes) I have seen
My colleagues walking outside in their bubbles; gone:
Entangled in their introspective scenes
Identity, the subtle debt, long overdrawn.
Set free from email screens and office schemes,
They’re unaware I’m clocking up the leagues
They've cast their souls out on the winds to sea
To nest improbably, like halcyons.
They wander past the verges choked with weeds.
The nettles dream of golden galleons.