the sound of the sea
came in at the window.
A mile away
beyond the reach of our feeble light
just reflected on the deserted promenade
quiet waves broke at midnight:
the slow rhythm of renewed talk
travelled in long lines across our minds.
Remembering those quiet moments
I think of spring flowers opening to the sun
or winter frost feeding the roots
of young vines.
Footsteps in soft rain
cold leaves blown in the London wind
rumbling traffic trembles the trees
of the park and lamplight fills golden pools’
reflections of city sky.
Do you remember the warm words
carried away like leaves by time-
the touch of an arm on your shoulder?
Do you recall the footfall
we left behind us on the dark path?
We went on, you remember,
around us the lights of distant cars,
below us in the deep earth
there were trains running and
in some tunnel a young busker
playing a guitar.
Still that music churns my heart.