I wasn’t sure when we looked straight up
To the flag of sky over our heads
Whether that pattern of stars was already there –
Sewn sparks, set from the sun –
Or was woven from our own making.
.
Then the river, cloudless, with its slow-acting stillness
Threw back the fractals, glinted,
And brought in new shapes:
Orion’s necklace, Leo’s crown,
.
Points of reference. Sites for new renown, perhaps,
Play into our eyes with that self-same reminder –
We make our own maps.
.
And this bench, here in its present state
Exists only for its surroundings.
Worn branch, canal barge, autumn tree,
Bridge. Glance. Twist of fate.
.
The pattern starts from you to there
And, breathless, starts again with me.
.
You told me once under stations of starlight,
Spun me a thread that I can’t reel back
About a pattern, a series of shapes and signs,
Tiles upon tiles that carries on forever,
Sites and sights turning endlessly new.
.
That’s right here, up there,
All the things we can do.
Shallows upon depths, depths
Upon shallows, lights upon
Streets, skies beyond you.
All lies within reach the places we keep –
.
You can’t split the eye from the view.
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