I feel the river
fingers dipped into the water -
Soar, Trent, Humber, sea

cogs in the machine
true, yet we can maneuver -
trapped with space to move -
if one moves - it ripples out
trapped - not powerless

Winter passed to Spring
the grass where crocuses grew
shaved and yellowing

mould on the cracked tiles
underwear hanging to dry
water stained mirror

dry sticks and old bones
desert winds and stalagmites
prison camps - scarlet

summer morning light
photon rivers of gladness
butter and warm bread

revisit an old book
taste the herbs half-remembered
fresh colour again