We’ll do the usual, Michael and I will have some banter.
‘I haven’t got any desk top left’, says Michael, berret on.
Dean changes his backdrop to Paulo Nerado’s front room, or a mexican desert, or a library of books.
Past glimpses of fields still wild with red campion
Down tarmac roads growing grass in the middle
The coing of a dove: all take me back
Back as I bicycle on at this time
I turn down a briddleway, bumping dried groves
made by tractors or hoves, and I’m back
In the Sahara, driving fast over sand
Making lightening decisions, eyes fixed to the ground
The way turns to a B road, edged with high hedges
Cascading haw blossom, buzzing with bees
I’m back to my back garden watching an insect
inside a funnel
Past old coppice hedgerows of overgrown hazel
In this dream juxtaoposed time, biking
Aged 20, learning Love song to Prufrok
heading into the east wind.