Eyes closed
A body of messages
Form a disorderly queue
Interrupted
By a call from the hillside
A view of settled grass
Of the wide open moorland
Before the longer view, a more distant Tor
I bought a new watch
It acts as a reminder
Same make, similar model
Stainless steel strap, with inset gold plate
Saturday mornings did it for me then
As they do it for me now
How else to find the space
Time to agglomerate the pace
A place where vapour trails of memories
Can place me between the roof and the floor
Thrust me, hang me helpless, into the chasms
Of neither knowing, nor not ever understanding
This poem is from the collection
