Today the sun surprised us,
midsummer in April.
Londoners stood on pavements,
discarding clothes,
Amazed

Distracted
from figures on my screen
by the soft blunderings of a bee
assaulting my window,
I went home.

Exalted
by the benign heat,
I moved around the garden,
waiting for you.
My spirits, like butter, melting, separating,
clarifying.

You,
protected by the latest in blinds and
perfect air conditioning,
worked late.
Laden with weariness and failed trains,
you return
after dark.

Between us
lies only the distance of
a sunny afternoon.