In-between poems

A child who runs with the animals of the moors,
chapped and wind-lashed, matted hair,
knees scabbed and shoes worn through.
I listen to it raging, soft on folded elephant grass
as the sky roars its stories over-head.

Words and ideas tumble thoughts, absorbed
for recollection, searching for a combination
until the safe door clicks open.

An old man who caught the bus into town,
off peak return ticket in his blazer pocket,
Sat on the shopping center benches, eating a tuna sandwich,
watching as the lunch time rush pumps people
through its hardened veins.

I scribble notes to catch him without a camera,
I can smell sausage rolls from a nearby bakery,
feel his chest tighten, ready for a rasping cough.

I’m summer, the distant afternoon bakes dust
over the arched backs of waist high fields
we walk in lines, follow the brook home
and out onto melting tarmac streets,
panting with the dog to the tune of an ice cream van.

These oceans of childhood will hide until the moment comes,
the tops of each wave falling into sea-foam
across the page ready to flood the white space.