PAN'S HOUR Poem by Norbert Hummelt

when we found a space to park by the shop to buy some water
and didn't like the look of the place I remembered what my parents
used to say: I wouldn't want to have my picture taken here.

we set off across the field you were carrying your camera over
your shoulder and when you stopped at the edge of the woods to
adjust the settings I noticed the shimmer of your light-sensitive skin

as the path wound through the trees the land descended sooner
than we'd expected the kossenblatter see was below us reflecting
back the midday light that was slanting on to it. I mentioned this

and sought your eyes we practised the ancient art of renaming
the things around us on the landing stage the heron stayed
still for just long enough the buzzard was above us beneath the

sky we walked quickly without stopping both determining the
brimstone butterfly and for more than an hour we were simply
there in an hour where neither you nor I had ever been before.