When he was alive,

a train flew forward;

green fields, bright clouds, backward

- inside – blue seats vibrated

and the end of a black pen tilted.

Memory flew backwards

- old Mum, wooden school desk, Dad –

and his longing bellied forward

through anger, joy and fear, sadness,

forward and back from that sunlight into grey fog,

from this moment of - a very second

hurtling into time-space onward

away from a time unsullied

(now in an aching carriage)

and a future fully loaded.