Lines On An English Summer

    trying to clear my head

     by way of lords

               on a bus to beachy head

   at the precise second the ball was bowled

          over wenlock edge.


   either a boundary or something –

    in the bowler’s hand a difference seemingly,

a dance: suddenly a grenade, a warmth replaced by panic

      in my head the word titanic.

  brain on deck. to pass to faraway places such as france.


   his loop made me think of adlestrop,


of the blue i hadn’t won at oxford:

   the driver to cover,

suddenly alive to the possible that he and i were lover

   as i sharpened eye and pencil,

      (on paper).

    the next moment was new beginning

    and very slow like June i walked as ghost to the pavilion.

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