It is that time of mellow fruitfulness
when all your acts of care and love
not few and far between but clustered, sweet and pregnant
are ripened
to the point of no return
about to fall

Your tendrils did their youthful seeking
sensing and encircling
quickening the pace they grew a scaffolding for life
latching and attaching
to the people, places, pleasures that made sense
and held you up
so love and life could ripen

In turn, all the moments of encounter
with the vine of your being
The thing not said, the turn of your head
to the side
when privacy is kinder
Your phrases and asides
The way you never see the beauty
of your profile  
The way you even think it humdrum
     (How strange.
         How very very strange)
These moments of encounter hold me up

And so we wove the scaffolding, the tapestry
entendrilling each other
in the reach for life
savouring the moments
before the final fall
But what a view from here
What a view
from

here