This poem was written whilst on a river trip from Amsterdam to Budapest in May 2017, whilst I was awaiting the results of a biopsy to determine what sort of cancer I had.
Here in Bamberg we are buying history
grateful that no symptoms show
the guides are lancing our ears with dates
the biopsy scab no longer itches.
We have come to look back in time
ignore the irony of mortality.
The Old Town Hall from 1386
me from 1944.
The Rathaus splits the surging Regnitz river
I feel nothing of my rogue dividing cells
six hundred and thirty one years of division
my abnormality’s age unknown.
A light tap on my leg, a flying jewel –
Cockchafer! I move it to my hand
where its stays for several minutes
a significant part of its existence.
Cetonia aeruginosa larvae live in wood-mould
high in the crowns of ancient oak trees
metamorphosing in May to final grandeur
bringing me a gift, the sense of equivalence
