always I find myself flying out over the ocean
or by an open kitchen door with a view to the mountain
and birdsong on the evening breeze
or on a crowded tube train engrossed in a book
always neck tightening lushness of first swallowed malbec
or up on the moor with the lightness whiteness clouds scurrying
coming from burley to the giants staircase
the ink-runs of people out on the causeway
that cuts the millpond heather
always but always my son's first freckle
when I tell him 'he has caught the sun'
and he runs to the window to check it's still there
The Blue Book
No comments:
Post a Comment