When I picture it now, of course,
I can only picture it in the wrong season:
summer light on shop windows,
dusty pavements, the market’s
mosaic of fruit and veg,
gardens’ modest luxuries.
Not so hard to imagine you, though,
arm in arm on a familiar plaza –
or rummaging bookstalls,
drinking coffee, running for buses.
You’ll be laughing or breathless –
or both. On the bridge where
dual carriageway headlights
flash an eerie glamour,
it’ll be as if past differences
were nothing more than blank spaces
on a map of the constellations.
Tom Phillips 2014