Muffled voices
carrying faintly from the farthest bank
Clouds slowly swallow the horizon
till only the ghost of a tower block
remains
A slow fall of rain
freckles the back of my hand.
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Light
like silver chainmail
across the water
A heron on the bank
poised for flight
Your suitcase by your side
a memory
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Swathes of grass
seeding silvery purple
surrendering the green
Clover
clustering at my feet
How often do you think
of the first girl you kissed
her name all but lost in the mist.
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Clouds go scudding by
heading west
You are in another country
speaking in another tongue
When you call
I can hear the roll of waves
on shingle
the spray sharp against my skin.
All poems from Summer Notebook / John Harvey November 2021
Some Days You Do ... 