That green outside the carriage,  whizzing by,
is England, out of reach and mythical,
reflected darkly in my daughter’s eye.

The lonely houses, facelike, quizzical,
lorded over by thick pylon wires,
where home’s a stopgap between the local

and work, where gardens cough up thick bonfires.
I don’t know if it’s fields or momentum
that keep my girl’s attention on the blur

before our city state welcomes us home.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Aug 08, 2012 @ 00:00:05

    All that imagery and no words to frame thoughts.
    God bless the City State.


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