Friday, 31 May 2013


The boy I was watched from a window;
summers bled their yellowness across the landscape.

Then, like a cat, time played with me
and suddenly I was old.

I wore my history as if it were a tarnished medal.
‘What was all that about?’ I asked the years, who gave me

no answer but laughter, as if I had found
the stone at the centre of the peach.

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