i am travelling to the end of the world

with you.



all.



unless we stop to

start again.



unless we travel more careful



we shall see

blackened lakes.



kissing the ancestors, hugging the memories presently.



now



the will of the people over rides that of the mystery.



throwing all into
misalignment

we noticed it that day and found it omninous.

february 2019

the sea is quiet as we have never seen it

sun as hot as it gets

like summer



they gloried in it

the bathers

the media



we watched



while the ice melted.

i saw you fallen

&

photographed you



took you to be stitched.





yet i could not save you

nor

any of you.



you are a metaphor for death.





these

old photographs spur us on

to
care and treasure,

to

sweep and clean.



i keep yours by the stairs

to remind

that if you could leave us

so can anyone.



so

having written of the hour,

move on when all seems lost.



the days remain

timeless.

it takes time and patience to be  brave;

to face the consequences, to be         so

bold.



the calculations are seven

what is in that bag in the car?

you mean the brown paper bag from the bakers?

yes.

well there are his clean pants and his socks.

and

the leaflet about the manchester ship canal

you wanted.

also is a light bulb.

do you remember the electrician advised her of the peculiar property

of bulbs, well

she gave me a bag of the discarded ones

which all worked.

anyhow, one is a small ***** in and does not fit my lights here.

it will do for the light in my bedroom at yours.

thankyou. i will put it in the bedside drawer.

yes. that is what i thought too.

i hope you get to go on the manchester

ship canal.

you kept going while i was away even during storms

real grit

i am back as you can tell

will settle in a few days



7.21 home

lots to do

i briefly say that
i travelled to southport
then the manchester ship canal
then manchester town

i enjoyed it
much happened

much to do
to regroup
and tidy
up

your poor legs
oh!

a photo

oh!

oil pond mirrors the darkness the november

day                  sun draws white against the grey

this       leaf  lays on earth

there is no god

not hungry nor otherwise



you look at me straight and ask the past

and briefly I say & say there is no god



you did not smile nor shout you are the deadest thing

dead down .              no smiling  despite birds gone  by



on greasy wings                       .i remember your look

your face

drawn grey as mourning doves

that remind

for me there is no god