Friday, 26 October 2018


Another poem about those moments of satori that occur unexpectedly.
That's all I am going to say about it.

That we should decide to cross the border
is hardly surprising,
we live in the debatable lands.

Twelve hour passes are all that’s on offer,
because our lives are lived
inside the movements of our favourite clocks.
Still we hope for something built to last
and tell one another we go for experience.

Days lived like this prompt memories,
because in this place words reveal their power,
conjure simulacrum who people the spaces
between the shafts of light
between the notes from the turntable
between the breaths that form the words.

We were there now we are here.

In the quiet of our return a song plays
that was written after you died,
yet I know you are in the room,
have followed us back across the lines,
wearing a sad smile for what might have been,
gently I move to kiss your memory.

An old song that sort of fits the post.Carl Sagan by Loch Lomond.

Until next time.

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