From earth to earth, from air to air
I fly
never at home
anywhere
until I spy
this ground
scored by the passing blocks of ice.
An earth torn from the permafrost
this is where
the old sun
stings me back
as i hear children laugh
in this rich meadowland
carved out of st john's wood
this is where
fear whispers its long retreat
this is where the very gods of earth and air
scream
for me to stay.

......

The smells of disinfectant and beer
meet me here on this late-summer morning.
Opening Time
Mac is listening to the Test from the Oval
Margaret is arranging a posy of cottage flowers
On the bar. The car park is empty at eleven
All the commuters are in London.
I should be elsewhere, I know, but I prefer it here
The sun shines in through the open door
dust sparkles in the sunbeams,
old ghosts forgot to go home, again.
Closing Time.

......