Penzance / London by WS Graham

From this point onward we become aware
Of valleys to the sea. Closed as they are
From passengers with intent they fly behind
Lost in their trees. I, myself, beyond
Everything fly lost forever looking
Out of my window. Was that you I saw
Making love on the embankment among the daisies?
The speed I travel you would not catch
Me seeing you. Nor would you be put off
What you were doing. You fly away behind
Beyond two bridges into the summer day.

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