Paddington station

Paddington to Praed

A month after the accident, on Praed Street, You and I took my paperbacks and your felt tip pens And we fled to the forests of America. A rented house in Oregon. Weeks tallied to months, and it became our home. We spent the first summer camping and meeting animals. London pavements, iron and cold, faded faster than I thought they would. …

Heart

I saw a single golden thread

I saw a single golden thread flaxen, bright and true. It grazed my shoulder, passed my head, danced in my field of view. I knew not where the sun-strand led or from what lumen root it grew; the strand’s romance of unknown plans promised something new. I watched a single golden thread And in intrigue, gave it chase I walked away and off, …