Witnessing the Colour of Spring with Mark Hollis | Andy N
Broken in late evening sunshine
at the edge of Spring
there is a broken silence
sat alone in a deserted platform
counting the pauses in-between
the endless chatter of swallows
in search of an inheritance across the skies.
Whether Westwood bound
or looking inside out across a watershed
there is a sullen beauty
grief stricken written in rings of grass
over the nearby meadows
left stacked up prior to burning and replanting
for the lambs to run across wide-eyed.
Slamming shut moments in a wreath of tension
before the beauty is really formed
like prior to stepping out of a wardrobe
to visiting your version of Narnia
or creating your own personal Jerusalem
living another world to everything you see
before stepping onto a train never to return.