A love poem – this is the most revised poem I’ve written.
– For Hugh Cook of Farringdon,
the last Abbot of Reading.
The watery part of air swallowed
us in gigantic cold bursts that
we sat body to body in the smooth
oval of the ancient window. Parts
of the abbey were buried under
mounds of soft grasses and rich
sopping sod, but our window sat
proud of its barrow so we could
huddle in the dead of winter
night, and watch the silent rain.