Behind the railway cutting

curtained windows are still drawn tight.

Aerial masts on newly-tiled roofs

point east: a train from Manchester

scowls west further into

the lock of houses, over the bridge

to the scraps of hedges where the foxes

live border-crossing the line

at dusk to the Mystery and the school car park;

and always down towards the sea

that is pulling all movement out with its

back arched, the landscape on ropes,

the city afloat, dragging all to the horizon:

water at our knees, gulls on the bow.

© Eleanor Rees