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Poem	I Living in a land Where only the dying correspond I am borne on the wings of love II I cannot join in a poem The interstices of clouds I watched a lapwing Hover in the air Glide in an arc Veer from the sheer cliff III Who shall I meet On this journey to eternity? Alone and yet not alone The dust of immortality Lies in strangers’ eyes Girls in all the beauty Of their youth, old men with sticks No one afraid of anyone ‘No strangers here Just friends we have yet to meet IV ‘Angels Fine English Lace’ This was the post office In the time of the Brontes Here the famous manuscripts Were posted. V Perhaps I’ll meet on the pebbled road Michael Haslam in elfin form Shape-shifter or leprechaun VI One of a gang of Keighley girls Going clubbing in Leeds put her arms Round my neck and sang “Won’t you be my lover?” Eternities beyond Winnicott’s ‘spontaneous gesture’.
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