So we go on safe in our knowledge
That it does not really matter if knot
Or yes, in the annals of our history
Or of future biography, a past sheaf
Of a few wind-blown, crackling papers 
Except as an interruption, when one 
Wakes up purely, dream-fresh of logic
An interruptus from productive love.

We make agreement to sign at bottom
Across a side page, on the three lions
Watching from history's stone statues.
We had got them typed on a footpath
Where  love  waited to be interrupted.
Order, order says the gavel in black coat
Do not interrupt, it is serious business.
But we have one hell of an interruption
From a hot afternoon, a crow's screech.


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