Twelve Days of Lockdown 2.


Nostalgic for everything,

even rubbish feels like excavated evidence

of the pastimes 

of a former civilisation


remnants of us waiting

or abandoned like one of those villages

flooded to make a reservoir.


We are being smoothed,

swirled, carded, caught up

despite ourselves.


As if we could control

what the elements shape

or resist making relics

out of our need to escape.


I responded to Colin Potsig’s photographs of his lockdown walks with poems inspired also by my own.


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