Monday, June 01, 2015


outside 67 Douglas Crescent, Houghton Regis, around 1953

This clock makes no sound
as its moments take flight
but blows away the years
to another time.
The other time:
when wild fields burst
each spring,
when crisp summer grasses
filled the open spaces
and birdsong filled the sky.
The other time,
with all the time of the world,
when grasshoppers frolicked
the jungles we explored.

Now all that grows
over the memories
of youth
is brickwork
the incense of exhausts
and impatience.

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