Can you remember that moment in childhood when you realised that your existence was much greater than your experience?
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Wednesday evening, the sixth of August
nineteen fifty-two, at six forty-five pm.
idling along Sparhawk Street,
a reluctant walk to choir practice
with any excuse for delay.
The evening sun warms a cream bloom,
a single gleam on a grey leaved wallflower
anchored half-way up the ruined gable end.
The nearby brewery’s malty smell of mashing
teases open the young boy’s lips
as time is locked by St Mary’s clock.
His first abstract thought –
Can this moment be remembered,
recalled at will, even until death?
Over sixty years later the pale bloom beckons
and the lips part.
