1

So I began my morning walk a

rhythm railway timetables

soles arched, quickened

the threshold of Mancy Park,

ours, pollen

days. Inclined to angles,
the crush of swing dry air.
Black birds delivered notes,

spindly grass rippled, shone

once, only once, a backward

look.

2.

Late breakfast. Wet warmth,

skydiving

spring. A perforation of

nomic skin, soft to touch,

tailending the first hours.

Squelching dog-mouthed shoes,

parallels of throttled grass, we

skipped. Black shadows fall,

Silver Dust trace tentative steps.

Christopher Barnes