Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Where You Are
Unexpectedly I find you
In the folds
Of a document
Antique and cold.
In the smell of playing cards.
In a memory.
As I hit the water
Sliding down the slippery enamel of the new bath.
(Who knows what film I was in)
The laughter of your workmates
The scrape of the trowel
Mixing sand and cement on the yard
In the flat cap you wore
Riding your old bicycle
In the winter’s early light
In the laugh and the smile we share
In postmarks and perforations
In the trails of postal history
Thick card boxes and stock books
In the railway lines I followed
Drawn on the beach
Leading me in circles
Sitting in the motorboat of sand
Waiting for the tide to come in
Posted by Roger Stevens at 7:47 pm