Distant shores.
Bolt-holes.
Blue-saturated,
old and familiar.
Stuck in time.
Rust and grime.
I’m back here
for the steps
and the coffee.
It starts to
crystallise
from here.
When the fight
with me
was done,
you found new fights.
The need to fight
makes sense now.
I took the fight away.
I took your voices too.
All reminiscing is done.
It’s been and gone.
Walk on.
Back in the now.
Food-soiled pavements.
Pee-soaked corners.
Angered gulls in Spring
gather for
the Labrador
on tour.
New fights.
Stand tall.
Give thanks.
Surrender.
Look up.
Take flight.