Christchurch standing on a hill

around it ageless houses standing in the still

Inside the smell

Where worn flags and clay tombs dwell

The sound on each  flagstone

Like a drum beating in a deadly night

The dark interrupted by prisms of light

Injects into the soul of the confused visitor

The feeling of despair and not hope

 

 

I walk familiar ways

Every day is different

Maybe it’s a small branch tingling in the breeze

Deserted by a bird

Sometimes it’s a wave from a stranger

Or listening to my footfall breaking the silence

Or a child feeding the gulls

Intimate with their babble

Then watching the canal fire into disorder

As ducks and swans rush to the party

 

 

 

I walk familiar ways

Every day is different

Maybe it’s a small branch tingling in the breeze

Deserted by a bird

Sometimes it’s a wave from a stranger

Or listening to my footfall breaking the silence

Or a child feeding the gulls

Intimate with their babble

Then watching the canal fire into disorder

As ducks and swans rush to the party