Circle Line Copyright © Jen Overett 2010

Same smell and sounds since 1979
Across the empty track I half expect
To see you there, or someone else
From that far distant time;
Recall our rise from darkness into shimmering rain,
A sweetest open-day of Heaven's making,
Your soft lips, and the loss already starting.
Words cannot bring you back again.
Returning to the landscape I know best;
The pear tree's clear outline,
My child's cheek, where she sleeps,
Each eyelash individual, poised, resting.
We are made of these moments
And their beautiful fading.