Flashes of childhood,
Spent in play, fields and trees,
Or a white window sill,
Gazing at my mother on the street below.

Slivers of water on an urban pond,
Fishing or boating, quiet laughter,
Night embraces the tiled cafe,
And egg yolk runs slowly to touch  toast.

My friend's brown shoes, as he bowls in jeans,
The hush of a friendly audience
Gathered lazily on the lawn,
As the lights go down.

Different schools,
With different wise men and fools,
Walking to the first day of work,
After a bus and train ride, sweaty and unexpecting inside.

Eyeing apples at reception,
Always at the window looking out, looking in,
Love in its surreptitious forms,
Obsessive loyalty that obliterates norms.

Held down by an unexplained weight of sadness,
Help up by instants of laughter and madness,
Held to the dream that will not be crushed,
Held to account by time that will not be rushed.

An age I never dreamt of,
A place I never expected,
A body I never respected,
A mind that hasn't reflected.

Waiting on the shores for the wave to crash,
And for the light on the horizon,
I feel old and new,
Borrowed and used,
Broken, yet fused,
Nice, gentle and naughty,
30 days till 40.