We meet by the melting canals
Where swans chase nibbles of pondweed
Curtains part for a view underwater
Before they ice over again
Hovering high in the skies
A kestrel spies its next prey
Its shadow falls darkly over the fields
Its eyes flashing wide in warning
Taking the boat to Dort
We find a kind of happy
The three of us sitting in brown cafes
Eating poffertjes
Talking about places we’ve been
Windmill pumps, books we have read
The histories of trees
The grey fog that comes when you write
Warming hands on wood burners
Spotting limes in the park
The joy in the crunch of our crisp steps of snow
And seeing you again.
Angsty Poems 