Horizon (draft 1)

If I'm gazing out to sea,
forgive, if it seems
I am measuring the horizon,
eyes narrowed, calculating,
enthralled, fearful, hands
fidgeting nervously
in anticipation
next to you, my audience,
forgive, and forget this
glimpse of my inner torment.

I'd like to think it's you
that am thinking of
but, thoughts hushed and secret,
I'm planning an escape
from you and this life.

I will keep it simple
in these final moments:
sorrowfully, it's a slow
and painful realisation.
I hope, for both our sakes,
to steal away and disappear
despite the conflicting surge
coming from the pit
of my stomach,
gripping like your hand
on my wrist, to stay, which
is what i'd like if only
I could face this life
beyond this moment.

A rite of passage

On the stony setting of the day, this woman blesses

           her son.

He'd dash to Totnes, then trundles casually 

North

to, what may be known as, the back and beyond

      of Scotland



 

The smooth sleek winding train yawns onto the

platform

inhaling from the platform his bags and bike to the

          lock up.

Her thin lips, held tightly into a smile, quiver as she stands like a

                                                    statue.

 

The tick of the track signals its departure;

it toots.

The sniffling woman with whom his eyes

meet . . .

Three pigeons, disturbed by the train, flutter and

fly past.