Rudyard Lake, May 2015
The legs of the synchronised swimmers, Coming up for air simultaneously. The steady procession of rain, Pooling in the wrinkles of our anoraks. The sliding second hand on mummy’s watch, As time sneaks imperceptibly by. But I was lost in the Victorian railway, Between rising steam and flaked candy paint. Your hand over mine, falling into step, All a model-train memory: The rain The music The air The name Your hand Your voice- And its sadness, a frequency I was too little to tune in to. From Blogger iPhone client