I could have cried for the beauty of it all:
Walking at midnight down the double yellow line
  of rainsoaked asphalt,
Stars as my witness, I threw my arms out
  and sang to the sky.
Half whispered-spoken song
  of the glory of it all,
And my gratitude at having been given a glimpse
  of What It Is All About.
Pondered a cartwheel in the muddy sand at roadside
  and realized I was laughing
The laugh of someone who’s been let in on a secret:
Shhhh – don’t let on
  just yet.
But I’ve never been good at secrets – just look at me:
Giggling along, half-dancing again
  across the lines
Arms up, pinwheel on tiptoe,
Taking in the sand, stars, sea in turn,
Rolling them through my eyes
  as I roll through them
Until we are mixed so far into each other
  that only one thing remains:

[Copied from a sheet of notepaper dated 9 Nov 02. Not so much a poem as blissed-out roadside stream of consciousness. Honest, I swear I was as sober and straight as a man can be. It was just a beautiful night, and (I think) I’d just gotten back from a lovely night flight.]

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