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.




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