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.