On the train you hold the waxed-paper cup In two hands, careful, as if you caught A butterfly With seesaw determination, as the carriages shunt At the points, where the rails diverge and intersect In that clumsy, stagger back way You always thought unnecessary A summer cold is just past all sensible belief (you say) I think how you mantis, turn The taut, wrung out cloth of your neck Outside, the hard, enticing glint, as the river passes When you return, careless this time With another cup, held at a clumsy distance Like the besmirched paw Of a particularly embarrassing child Shadows lifting from your back I consider, the isthmus of your face The changing half-moon light Where the sea erodes One day there will be Nothing left (I think) The way sometimes, in our peculiar distances All details are effaced But for today When you tilt your head To better catch the trip-trap of the rails The silt of time In the hawkish, estuarine rake Marks out the familiar, negotiable terrain If I only knew the legend I would keep the map But, instead, watch the run, of unevening colours The roads becoming flood-torn As the paper soaks The spilt tea from the tray The journey only ever takes us This one way Crumpling, with that mildly sneered distaste We are lost