Summer holiday



Journey I

On the second day,

Two layers of reinforced glass:



Press my camera phone flat against the first

It notes only

an alpine raindrop skating across

the second, notes only

that counter-journey, a self-summoning

of its own endless kinesis




In the Uffizi a girl takes a selfie in front of a Botticelli.

We pad, pant, chase shade.

Our entire flesh sweats.

We acclimatise


Green shutters bake on cream walls.

Terracotta hardens its cap on each roof.

Ankles rime with dust.



of Euros for entry fares

for slices of coconut bathing

in stainless steel fountains


The mind is wrung.

A vending machine crouches at the end of a crypt in Santa Croce.



Via San Donato in Collina

Cleaned-out tomato tin,

Stick of palm on vinyl table,

Cool tiles to sweep clear of onion skin


Fragments, pine needles, occasional

Splashes of coffee grounds.

The Tuscan air relaxes, cradles


Bird and insect sounds,

Lulling, laying them on the groves

And hills. Bounded


By thunder that hours ago made

Clouds sweat long rain



Journey II 

Just before Teignmouth

my phone storage was full

so I tried to memorise it, for all time:

Wizened grey cloud lightening to mallow,

a left yacht, anchor for a

pink-sunk sea

spread stilled like table cloth,

Finally railings, broad, straight with rust.



grit not dust

a different tasting salt.

Here too, bleaching;

here too trod modernity




A peg left on my line

is now bridged

and woven,

made homely with spider silk


Nature discards nothing

seizes in stillness


But like a wave

towards a sandcastle

I am driven by momentum and I

squeeze the legs together from underneath


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