a sea fret coated us
dampening all sight and sound
and the ringed Cinnabars
making home in the Ragwort
they littered the edges of our expeditions
as we walked with stuttering steps
but the surety of youth
I falter on the sleepers now
forced to an old man’s gait
I watch each step where I used to run
until the flattening of the track
where the rails run
to wild roses and fallow stone
paulhp poetry 