words

…and I couldn’t forget

Waking,

the valley crusted with frost,

sun slicing the shadowed grass,

deep sky streaked

with vapour trails

curdling memories, left on the saucer

what do you do with three

pure days? trees are on the ridge,

squinting in the haze of the sun,

mistletoe clotting the twiggy arms

fogged behind

dirty train windows.

The last night in Bath,

she comes through the Pulteney

sluice gate arches,

a history rushing past

with her father taking photos,

I can feel him here,

clutching the cold stone

below the abbey in a murky twilight,

her bells swinging.

Before I leave these lanes,

remember I wore

the shoes that since got lost in the post,

waited til it got blue outside,

waited for the post to stop coming

but today we went

along Severn Beach, the yellow rocks

and the damp air

with our fresh lungs

just as the cloud of starlings

murmured

above us,

and I thought of your final smile

shimmering before

it turned in the wind