After a long day of
getting lost in the rain;
turning wrong instead of right,
wrong instead of left;
somehow always seeing that same
cafe over and over and over again.

Cold hands grip the corners.
Pacing round this grey city,
glancing at street signs inconspicuously;
pretending not to be new.

The blues pull on the resolutions
till they’re broken by the spring
sunshine which finds
all the things January lost.

Euphoria of returning to
the old seaside cocoon.
The place of change and shift
of heart and mind,
and tide which
pushed the town
right back
in January.

The next day we looked out at the promenade
in pieces like an emptied out jigsaw box
but cheered for postponed exams
so we could cherish important things,
like a night out at the Pier, and long talks.

Returning back
finding it’s still
just the same
as the train parts
through the hills
and forward
to the dead end
that began it all.

Icy gusts of wind,
howling, pushing,
through over the earth,
burning faces, rippling
the trees, moulding
the season, the leaves
fall like droplets of fire
caught in spirals.

Dark mountains and
stalactite tears
blending into cave
marks on the wall.
A funeral? But
warmth and belonging
and a community
of travel, hope, legacy.
Footprints on the ground.

You hide behind
knowledge like
a shield you

feel stronger
when you know
the answers,

when you know
the answers,
when you know.

When you mistake bugs
crawling on a white, blank sheet
for ink blots, or dark stains,

It's just like when the stars
you see in the pitch black sky
move, and turn into planes.

Houses held up like puppets.
Pylon-wire branches spread out;
assuring the land wont drift far out to sea,
or melt into the earth with subsidence.

Cotton-wool-candy-floss caught up in cranes,
wind-whipped, white-wash, wispy, whippy clouds.

Do you remember when we waited in line for 99s?
The sky was busy with boats, the sea so blue. No, I mean...
And I had strawberry syrup dripping down my cone
and a multi-coloured sticky chin.
We watched the boats going out, coming in;
then we joined the rest to say goodbyes.

        All the hands were wagging; electric flapping.
        Water splashing up against the dock.
        The arms propelled the ship.
        Gemmed fingers dancing farewells;
        the jangle of bangled wrists;
        waving in the air, propelling the ship away
            to retirement paradises,
                          honeymoon bliss,
                                         champagne seascapes.

Always in the middle this place,
on the edge of a million-gazillion other worlds.

The rumble rattle of engines as I walk along
to look out at the reeds; on search for quiet idleness.
Leaves rustle, tickled by the breeze.
A train passes in-between;
                   on its way, on its way...
I sit on a bench nearby and hear a hum of life amongst the hedges.

Then,
walk back
with orange light bouncing in and out
of windows' winking eyes;
watching the chalk line,
aeroplane trails in the sky
cut through the blue.