32


& in this – sudden
a train
in half-light
at midsummer
yellow in the grey
yellow coming here
& we're away

to pass
everything that we do
the bed of reed where the bright
new blades are green in the old
& the river curves, overflowing through fields
with a little moat around a blackthorn bush
& the meadows & the horses
& the farms on high ground
& the scrapyard by the level crossing
& the back of the timberyards where the train pauses
when seeds on white down float slowly through the windows
right through the carriages

Some days, too, I'd hardly write
& others it's like that.