Inside the roundhouse is a sanctuary.
Bible stories frescoed on whitewashed walls.
Heavy cross beams above – functional not symbolic.

A sacrament table beneath and a half  circle of chairs,
The priest breaking the bread says
‘in this moment past and present become one’.

Now I hear the wind in the trees.
The fan tail steers the sails to face the wind,
Mill stones trundle, flour crushed for bread.

When God first gave a rhythm to the world
it was simple: day and night, night and day –
called it circadian rhythm.

God sent another world a spinning.
Its empty face came and went, came and went –
called it lunar rhythm.

God laid on this a slower beat,
growing hot, growing cold –
called it annual rhythm.

What came at first as the patter of rain
rose again through the stems of plants –
called it precipitation.

Then came creatures small and great
with wings and beaks and songs to sing.
It was God’s creation.

Then came man with stick and drums
counterpointing – changing beat –
a shifting, surging, syncopation.

I sat and cried.
Mummy wouldn’t play.
She was cooking tea
and the new sandpit
was a desert now
where I cried and cried.

Then from out of the sand
I created a man
and with him three friends.
The damp sand shifting
beneath my bare toes.
I talked with them in turns.

Then I created an elephant
that made great marks.
It took all the men to hold it
with big ropes and that
was not enough really
for the elephant got free.

It trampled one man.
The other men carried him
away with a great gash
where his leg was hanging off
and the sand grew red
as dark clouds came over.

When mummy came out
the elephant and the men
went away again
and we made the surface smooth
and created a pool of water
where I washed my hands and feet

Her life is become marble – serene and alone –
Worn as a gown among cool shadowed walls
Where time conscious visitors meet.

In a blur of coats, dresses, and hats
Visitors swirl beneath her unblinking eyes
Replete in the folds of her dress.

The visitors go to where the sun is still shining
Taking away their chatter and cares.
She can hear sea-shell voices

As a childhood dream’s hollow ebb
Distance grows, shadows grow.
Falls the hush of late afternoon.

There is a sudden movement. Someone cries.
Swishing white coats, clacking heels
Bring again those looming eyes.

Just a handful of skirt shows her anger.
She swallows the syrup as offered.
‘Largactyl’ its burning.

Weather Forecaster said it was a shocking day today.
Over to Uxbridge.
Nigel Farage will face a grilling from the Question Time audience
after a rough day for Ukip.
Also on the panel are Queen’s Brian May,
Labour’s Tristram Hunt,
Tory Jeremy Hunt
and editor of the Economist … Zanny Minton Beddoes.

Nigel Farage resigned
then he did not resign.
Someone from the audience says
“you are like the rest. You went back on your word.”

Sue is saying how worried she is about giving drugs to the patients. It is such a big step. She has grown up though and cut her hair from the style I liked best where we went about like a pair of ragamuffins. I carry on as before, getting more ragamuffinish.

22 across. Outlandish things from abroad.

Could it be aliens. Or Cosmopolitans. Or maybe Frogs Legs. How any Letters?

I have missed the moment. She has already gone with her crossword.

I saw your reflection in a shop window glass.
Many people rushed by, jostling as they passed.
You could have taken any arm and wandered away.
By my side, it seems strange, there you chose to stay.

Like a twirled kaleidoscope, we let the others fade
into a coloured backdrop. Together on a stage.
You said, ‘I will’ and I heard you sing
And placed upon your finger the diamond wedding ring.

Husband and wife. Eventually, they’ll take
the plaster figures from our wedding cake
and place them in a soft strawed bed
a comfortable home for another pair now wed.

But we are running to a life we cannot control.
I hope our love endures. Love is the greatest goal.