Arches of tunnel mouths
sprung upon the river’s skin –
one is cupping clouds
and the other in shadow
is an eye to fall into
*
The river’s green lane
is an exit at Bridgehouses –
banks built from red bricks
where the road has meandered
changing its course through the years
*
The wind in the leaves
turns his head to the sky
clear of the traffic
flooding Corporation Street
a current on tarmac
*
Inside the factory
a glass pool of green water
silently hangs with sky –
eaves of corrugated iron
patterned squares of diffuse light
*
Listen to Mark Doyle reading his poems on location here.
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