The Grand Union © 08 Paul Jenkins

I’m mindful of your presence;
the purr of the diesel engine at my back,
wandering, as in a dream,
astride the coruscated back
of the Grand Union Canal;

beneath bridges
with steps that ascend
the dark waters
of this subterranean world,
adrift in sunlight
and in rain;

encompassed by the canopy of trees,
leaves stroking your face
touched by your beauty
I remove a petal
from your lips
to kiss.

A metre or so away,
a grey heron
spears the murky water,
to emerge
with a glittering, metallic fish
held between its silver, scissored beak;
whereupon
beating the air
with outstretched legs and wings,
it rises up into the canopy of the trees,
like some primeval ballerina
in slow motion

follow me
and dance on her wing tips
your hand in mine
taking hold of the tiller,
water eddying about the stern.

In the same moment
A kingfisher free-falls,
fluorescent blue,
from an overhanging branch;
skipping low over the water
under the parapet of a bridge.

We move in unison
spellbound by the morning.
I watch the cold, dark water
fill the steep-sided, stonewalled lock;
and with the realisation of our love,
contemplate the way ahead.