You Shall Be Returned To The Sea

It is the pattern that you may expect (following starry things), so
   that we may be exact. The sofa was our crib and I imagined
you on it – all perfect, all ready. Each second planned, kept
  quiet and the travel woke us, the carriage shook and we were alive "please
email me, to tell us to…, right round

the back of", we were lost again and these shall be
   the seasons. Spring warmly welcomed; outside the window
the ploughman busy in his field (fulfilling his task faithfully).
   God is thanked. The summer – at first refreshing (the views
The seas are wonderful, wonderful) but soon clouds gather

and a storm breaks over Brighton – an imported electrical
     one ( I think) from the Caribbean: all soft and
sensuous afterwards but in the heat alarming to us and we pray
    together. But soon these same clouds (the ones I wrote
to you
about) charged in front: it was quite beautiful, we felt above

them, circulating, travelling by air and not seeming to pass
    anybody (just flew around in circles), the light playing on
their surfaces.  My thoughts were never far from you and I hoped
    you would be waiting when I landed. "Dispensing
love that all
should be calm when I awoke." Autumn – a dog prowls, horns

are blaring (we are confused!), prey pursued by hounds and hounds
    pursued by people, saying to somebody "we’re not quite
who except they should leave us". Winter – it is precisely this:
    that London is foggy, sexy, difficult and people cough
unnecessarily on the underground tho’ better to be below

because above it was icy and through a tunnel came rushes which
    which bowled the lovers over, made it difficult to stand in
Winter fury:  Spring will soon return and we shall be married.
    That is my hope. She brought me life and her eyes sparkled in
the night as jewels that spoke. These were secrets that I

sought in unobtainable code while we drank and laughed in
    pauses that stretched from Cornwall to the present English;
and in a moment I turned and she was gone to magic seas
    where music plays – and the shadow ("he got rhythm")
is like sunlight on the massive swell of our meeting.

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