the traveller

Foot
loose
and fancyfree

I slipped my sandals under
the seat opposite me,
tipped my toes
onto the ledge so that my legs were a bridge

between the train's cool cushion
and myself, later bridging the gap
between the train and platform,
transporting me

from door to distant land
like a sultan who disrobes,
weary from battle and the weight
of royal matters, settles atop a silky seat -

so do my feet, released from sweaty sandals
glitter with sun-brown battle scars.

Like a traveller
who's been granted royal protection I bow low,
and smile and tell them it's not far...

sketch in Cambridge

A woman in a bright red umbrella. A man glancing into the cafe window disapprovingly. A skinny guy, students touching, taking footsteps that dust the pavement but, like icing sugar, can be rustled away with one breath of wind. The trellises of King's College with patterns that run like fancy footwork along the top of the wall, dancing shapes across the stone. The rush of a bike, circular speeding streamline wheels that cut clean across the roadscape. Roses, mine, at home. Darkness and the thin crack of light, banished by blinds. a woman with glasses and a headband and sunshine yellow shoes. The looming sky. Flashes, flashes.