In our hammock
We couldn’t be touched
Because we were untouched
Untouched by the ground workings and up
From concrete cavaliers and spiral shaped spears
That aimed to wind and rope around the throats of what was already constricted
Instead, pricked by the roots and bark of a growing seed
And wrapped wholly in the warmth of the moon-lit face of a space so close, touched only by shoulders
And felt across lengths until the sky burst open and touched,
Our hammock