The Tennis Shelter

(i)We play tennis outdoors,lightning flaring on the horizon,air thick with humidityand the scent of distant rain.Under the floodlights washdiving moths swoop, flutterand fall, dying, to the ground.Beneath the tennis shelter,its white metal gleaming,a rain moth shelters.Two bright blue eyeson delicate brown wingsin the darkness.

(ii)Drunk with the headinessof these stolen moments,you curse my hair flying loose,long and twining;while the thunder roarsaround the tennis shelter,chastising us like children.When the storm easeswe walk away;You don’t know I glance backand see your face, unguarded -as I’ll always remember it.