I have a view
Through net curtain windows
A blue sky with thin white clouds
Beneath which sits
A whole forest of trees
Not in view
But directly below
My third floor
Is a single track railway line
Going to, and coming from
Back in time I also wrote of what I could
Not have seen, from my hotel bedroom window
Firstly the promenade, in Lyme Regis
Then that encroaching black black sky
Which eventually stole away my horizon
The coming from, and the going to
They all happened too too often
Even now you might see
That I am simultaneously struck
By the echoes, of arrivals and departures
