The Wolds, up over the folded jackets
Of violins and strings galore
There through the flickered leaf
The video of the motor cycles roar
The stillness of the rolled up straw
Already giving birth to grass
If ever we should find silence
Would we could be so lucky to last
Up and down and pan
All around and all ways across the horizons
In the stillness of sleep
With a breeze from faraway offshore islands
You quietly began to talk
Of last nights film; about sliding off
From the edge of the world
About the contrasts
Between here and Kings Cross station
I listened with great intensity
To the comfort of your voice
I wanted you to talk forever
