Through the fast-forward frames
That gentle-rock and carry me homewards
I see familiar – but not – evening shadows
Lying timelessly across harvest-clock fields;
Full leaf crowns of trees that served as masts,
Fuel, trusses, wheel spokes and spear shafts
Lean now on thick, dark hedges
Like off-duty, slightly drunk warders
At the sleepy near-home edges of my day.