Night Shift
Once again I have missed you by moments;
steam hugs the rim of the just-boiled kettle,
water in the pipes finds its own level.
In another room there are other signs
of someone having left: dust, unsettled
by the sweep of the curtains; the clockwork
contractions of the paraffin heater.
For weeks now we have come and gone, woken
in empty acres of bedding, written
lipstick love-notes on the bathroom mirror
and in this space we have worked and paid for
we have found ourselves, but lost each other.
Upstairs, at least, there is understanding
in things more telling than lipstick kisses;
the air, still hung with spores of your hairspray;
body-heat stowed in the crumpled duvet.
Somewhere Along the Line
You met me to apologize, you were saying
as we waited in the drizzle for the slow train.
When it focused in we said goodbye and we kissed
and from the window you were caught; teary and fixed.
You ran across the wooden bridge, I knew you would,
to get down on the other platform and to wave,
but as you did the eastbound Leeds train flickered past
and ran you like a movie through its window-frames.
I keep these animated moments of you as
our catalogue of chances rushed and chances missed.