Only in the stillness of giants
Do the Murmurs or twitches
Really rain the magic down
And I don’t mean the routines
The sip of the ale
The check of the phone
The only movements I can make out
Are the ones in front of me
You whisking your fingers
On the back of my palm
A re-enactment of Swan Lake
In the most minimalistic form
Out exchange; base to the onlooker
But the real actions a few meters below

Cos only in the stillness of giants
Is there a statement to be made
As the web of your fingers meet mine