Issue 96, Summer 1985
At the end of two months’ holiday there came a night
When I lay awake and the seas’ distant fretless scansion
By imagination scourged rose to a fight
Like the town’s roar, pouring forth apprehension.
I was on a train. Like the quick spool of a film
I watched hasten away the simple green which can heal
Sadness. The signpost painted FERRY TO WILM
And the cottage by the lake shone, vivid, but unreal.