A photograph of a past lover sits on a shelf

Collecting dust along with heaped books

And splayed-out magazines barely read

He looks round the room at his life in small bits and pieces

Fragments he begins to question

Nowadays rarely viewed or handled

A piece of seaborne wood and tide thrown glass and shells

Brush another shelf with stories never told

The past collected by once laughing open willing hands

Stashed and stacked for future reference

Of beaches and coves in hidden distant dreams

Once removed now suddenly come into sharp focus

Whilst the wild rain of another summer Sunday beats the panes outside

Riding waves of showers that make him look around the room again

With untidy eyes at all that once mattered

Maybe time to try again

Maybe time to remember maybe time to forget

Too much to hold on to

Yet too much to throw away and forget

Until the fire of life swallows him up and then it no longer matters

And all that he once held dear becomes somebody else’s trash

The regrets remembered of why he never called

Trying to find the words to say to write to pick up the phone

Maybe she’s no longer there

But the large canvas he has created of her standing on an easel

Next to yesterday’s coffee cup remains shouts out yes in his head

Maybe she won’t remember

Maybe she just doesn’t want to know

He dials expecting number not recognised

Or the click and flick of switch and a mechanical voice

Saying please leave a message after the bleep

Instead, it is she that speaks into those years gone by

And stone and wave and sand and shell connect

As like speaks to like and he and she take up the tango once again

As if five years have never really passed