Last Walk

Lizards scatter with small stones

as he trips up the mountain road,

kalderimes are too bumpy now.



He's been here before

a thousand feet above nut town 

where crumbling churches 

send peels of God down 

to the sea. 


He's been here before.


'Are there cicadas?....  I don't hear them.'





White scree falls recall…

sodden summers wrapped in mist.

Lakeland views packed away 

gifts for some other stay.


Cloud clutters the coast




until a strip of blue renews..


'Remember in Cornwall how we'd watch the clouds,

for clear sky and leave the caravan

to chase the sun?'


I do remember


He walks past our car, 

parked under the spread of an old walnut tree,

to the church of St John and stares

at Byzantine frescoes

of a dickless Jesus.


‘There's something missing’. He says.



◄ Stockport - September

Lost Boy ►


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