Living in a land
Where only the dying correspond
I am borne on the wings of love


I cannot join in a poem
The interstices of clouds
I watched a lapwing
Hover in the air
Glide in an arc
Veer from the sheer cliff


Who shall I meet
On this journey to eternity?
Alone and yet not alone
The dust of immortality
Lies in strangers' eyes
Girls in all the beauty
Of their youth, old men with sticks
No one afraid of anyone
'No strangers here
Just friends we have yet to meet'


'Angels Fine English Lace'
This was the post office
In the time of the Brontes
Here the famous manuscripts
Were posted.


Perhaps I'll meet on the pebbled road
Michael Haslam in elfin form
Shape-shifter or leprechaun


One of a gang of Keighley girls
Going clubbing in Leeds put her arms
Round my neck and sang "Won't you be my lover?"
Eternities beyond Winnicott's 'spontaneous gesture'.