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The rite of passage

		The old green wagon moves a life
		Heads appear like nodding gulls
		Eyes cast down searching cracked flags
		Hopes from people sadly to be missed.
		Un-walked limestone worn and smooth
		Names unknown pronounced with care
		Cats are watching ears laid flat
		Hoping for a swift return.
		Birnbeck sits in swathes of grey
		Awash with things that crawled the tide
		Calloused hands help downward steps
		Keeping faith on steady legs.
		In time with autisms dragging feet
		Not knowing still how words are said
		The backward journey seems so long
		Help shunned by one straight eye.
		Early smells of flowering mint
		Pervade young senses drawn to home
		Ancient trees clasp hands above while
		Rooks berate a passage walked that
		Knowingly follows time worn trails.


                    Kerb-stones line an unknown road that
		    Reach horizon's fading edges
		    Above a time worn scaffold sways
		    Perhaps to halt a wayward course.
		    Earth and ochres mix like blood
		    Healing scars sewn up in haste
		    That keep a soul from breaking up
		    Not caring should a life be lost.
		    Ink stained papers edges torn
		    Keep note of any ill thought word
		    Caen stone gently touched with love
		    Abate a sense of shame and loss.
		    Behind a broken brick façade
		    Held in place with hair and sand
		    Cements a quilt of truth and lies
		    Not yet for want of faith or feeling.
		    Unwanted dreams await their time
		    Held up by benches warped and bent
		    Each stroke and cut so carefully wrought
		    Helps sanity to keep its changing form
		    To live a life that can't be shared.

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