She draws into London on the mainline
train from the north

Soundlessly drifting through suburbs

A quarter moon hangs low in the sky,
As though in disgrace

Its lethargy -
As it falls off rooftops
And dips behind high-rises
- mirrors her heavy spirits

She fears losing herself

Will her grace, drawn from the open plains
of the north,
be squandered in the urban density
of this new place?



With every new start and every move -
another house
another country
another lover
- you leave shards of yourself in your wake.

Sometimes the left-behinds find you.
Sometimes they don’t.