The rain stopped coming round 7 and the heavens were
Gold as a gong and robin’s egg blue
With a memory of you

This Sunday
I am on a higher plane
Haloing in a holding pattern
Circling the turbines on the
molten golden estuary.
And whilst we hang there, I am thinking
of you.

The cloud strata part like a multi-storey car park
As we slide past the snaking Thames
And silted tidal triangles out to sea

Oh like a Juggernaut you.

Far down there in the rippling clear
A sailing ship sits with rigging erect
Attentive to life’s arrival as I was to you
On that long ago January evening.
One of those intuitive blooms
Where I hoped then I knew we would meet
Yet I determined to hold you lightly
When I knew we’d only have to let go.

Fields of houses and tidy crescents
Surround primary colour docklands
And the sun shines bright on brick
Lengthening shadows form a tower’s train
And the Tarmac shimmers after rain.

And every second thought since
Always and forever you



Le puisse et le gloire.

The glory of God is man fully alive. – St Irenaeus
Your textures tousled brown, pale cream and cashmere blue,
I watch you draw urgent verbal curlicues
They fill the air, your incensed words
As I savour the precise richness of you.
You read Donne
And it undoes me
You speak science
And I am silenced.
You praise grace
And I am all amazement
You sing your heart out
And it rings true.
It brings me quiet joy
Just you being you
And me being around you
Brings me slight nerves but your presence is also familiar warm, worn armchair
In only the best ways.