Connections
London July 2009
Washed up in Euston’s railway tide
we take the tube to riverside
you stay a stranger but I find
regret, we don’t connect, collide,
and as we move through tunnels blind,
your image imprints on my mind.
Here, from a place to you unknown
the time we shared is on rewind,
that slate blue dress, an even tone
of natural linen lightly sewn,
slung round your neck a simple shape,
one white holed shell, an almost bone.
Your profiled head, (a loop on tape)
brown curls rest easy on your nape,
freckled skin, and on one hand,
at rest along the dull creased drape,
a wide and well worn wedding band.
Clothes speak connections, sea to land
in rustic coloured sack-cloth-style,
textures of flax and rock and sand.
I stare, you turn to me, you smile
an innocent of worldly guile.
Sat opposite I shine med’ light,
this shopper-holic in denial.
Mirano-beads gleam aqua-bright
otherwise I’m dressed in white.
About this we could have spoken,
more flag than fabric to your sight,
finally our silence broken,
yachting signals are the token
chat from light-houses, cliff and stone,
we might have shared a joke then
but we maintained we were alone,
don’t give out numbers on the phone.
In fragile-cargo-lives we dread
stops, starts, open doors, so I’m prone
to imagine things left unsaid,
from waking thoughts and dreams in bed,
our paths that crossed we’ll never tread,
know this by you will not be read.