I take my spectacles off
Before the ink lines of his limbs
Emerge from the crowd
Before the smile closes his eyes
Below the clock at Waterloo
Half way between
A Giacometti and a Meissen Chinaman
He stands so thin and waits
Yet I am the fragile, the much sutured one
This time, shall we ...
His question bleeds
Into the departure
Of the one forty two
For fear of being early
I am the one who is late
Who takes the last few steps
Like someone who hasn't walked before
But how are you, I ask
And hold his hand for a moment
In what I hope feels like a handshake
We do not touch
Thereafter
We do not touch
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