Here comes another wave
from the Sunday Sun,
shutting my eyes
so my memory
can seal it.

It's another day
with my soul on
the run, walking
barefoot on the
tar just to feel it.

It's another way
for my mind to ponder,
waiting for my
life to paint a
picture, so I
can see it.

I'm just another slave
to my thoughts
and I wonder
where it will all
lead to if I leave it.

Slight stirrings of slumber
lifting their heavy traces from our entwined figures in the late morning brought us to murmur mini kisses
into wherever skin met mouth, wanting to waste the day away in an oxytocin coma.
Not even the thrum of rain woke us up,
but it was brought to our attention that we were both ravenous.
Whispers and nods on the matter of waffles,
and then at a snail pace we remained loyal to the pursuit of our destination. To the cafeteria we walked not hand in hand,
but side by side,
enveloped in a dry space
surrounded by a world of maddening wet.
He held the umbrella.

You are no longer my strange angel.
Every step that you take narrates a story that I am no longer part of;
The sound of your footsteps shall no longer affect the rhythm of my heartbeat.
You may look away whenever you want and it shall never make me shiver.
You may spit sunlight from your smile and it shall no longer hurt my eyes.
You no longer have the right to cause such blood rush in my veins.
You no longer have the key to unlock the room on which I wait.

;;;;;;n[4mnbjjjjsssssf

The sky lies on the horizon
like a smoke-coloured cat
draped over a sofa of heather,
purple as pansies but sharper,
scratching against boots and paws.
It washes across the landscape
in a swathe of paint,
broken by breadcrumb rocks.

Up here, the wind gallops,
almost spins me round
to face home again.
Water framed by narrow paths
like battlements, flicking
onto grey stones and sand,
smell of earth, damp air.

Our path drops down
like the side of a ship and the dog,
ginger beacon in a sea of bog-grass,
skids on his front paws.
I shuffle sideways, crab steps
slipping from mud to puddle.

Walking along the narrow track,
parents shepherding ice cream kids,
making way for pushchairs, making waves.
The lakeside watch on ducks and swans.
The nodding smiles and genteel grins,
like a 50's Sunday promenade,
while walking sticks wait by benches
dreams die when mobiles chime.

This sunlight can be like a lamp through trees
when it feels like the sun has followed me across a field
finding me with the trees and the horses and small animals
smelling the grass

And I can wear your friends coat
and it will keep me smiling through the cold
eat cereal dry from the box
sitting on a fallen tree
fill the ghastly centre of me
to find it's more like a strange warmth

These clouds can be like some distant lands
And i can be afraid of the mud and the sand and the twigs
because i love them
and i can be afraid of your hand
because it can lead me to the rest of you

I can be alone on the pavement
on the concrete road
and call it a mood and i know what that means
with the houses bending around me
corners on roads waiting

Only one place will be like this
where the moon falls into the sea
I'll feel my heart beating on the stones
see the words sitting in between us
and people who never found me

This music can be like the rain sometimes
and it can be like the shelter
And I will find us a fallen stairway
You will find us a hole in the ground
We can find a space to be in

Along a path
I can touch everything
and let it go
and i will feel how it feels
like leaves and words
I'll fall into spirals
like leaving my body
fall on the ground
in the sky
roll in the dirt
cry and cry and cry
or smile

I will climb the ladder of this silo
with the mud from your boots on my hands
and we can see the fields together
when your smell is still quite new to me
the air will smell like rivers this day
and the world will look like pale light
and you can bring me biscuits on the swing
while i wait for you to see your family
and it won't be normal

once I thought i could taste the world sometimes
it will happen again probably

I really hope you come back soon
Because I miss you more than rick misses lori
I love you more than shawn spencer loves pineapples
And I need you more than korra needs bending

Apples & plums high on their boughs
autumn is not far off now

nearby, red brick houses
sleep in the after-shower sun

only a few more days
& summer's done

the cyclists are speeding
on their way from work

along the Bristol-Bath cycle path
also ' railway path' called

& with a three year old laugh
a child in an anorak unsteadily sways

I've walked this way in the night
with the moon shining up above

& seen a fox run out in plain sight
into the middle of the path

the street lamps either side
amongst the trees, shining on it's red fur

& in the early morning light
watched a mysterious toad blink it's wide eyes

& walked it all the way
to Bristol town & back

& also to the old Steam trains
out past Warmley

dressed in my old boots
waiting for the sunset & the dark

calling up ghosts
musing on Rousseau

listening to birdsong
& wanting nothing more

We're walking as the sun begins
Its morning rise behind the trees
Just past our house
Joe and I,
Pond on our right,
Cars to the left,
Hill path curving
Up and out of sight.
Morning smells,
The call of geese,
The morning voice of robins,
Cars rushing,
Loud and soft and loud.

Our morning walk,
The route we know...
And the routine.

We do not talk, he and I,
Alone in our heads,
He with his man,
I with my dog thoughts.

This path is the path of years,
Slower now,
Still connected with a leather leash,
We stroll convinced of nothing
But the need to walk.

This morning's different, though...
Joe stops halfway up the morning hill,
Houses and our house below...behind,
Says, "Tuck, old boy,
Should we change this time?"
Stoops to look into my eyes,
Unsnaps the leash...
To my surprise.

His smile lets me see
That I am free.
"No need, I think," he says.

I turn and look back
Toward our house,
Think of geese now standing
On the dewy grass,
Observe the sunlight
Glisten on the stand of corn
Beside us,
Remember past enticing smells
Along the way....
A rabbit scent invites me
Off the path to stray....

Joe's moving now,
On up our hill.
I am standing on the path,
A little shocked and still.

A younger dog would run,
But habit's set its track;
Our mutual walk lies up ahead,
So, faithful now, I move
To walk beside my Joe,
Content to travel with a friend,
And let the running go....