It is so unconscious, this water, So still and unknowable; Amniotic, cobbled with lillypads, Thick with pond weed and meadowsweet rushes. It is so unthinking too;
Tiny thing, Pink-faced and cradle-capped, Swaddled in a blanket that reeks of smoke. Your bright smile ricochets around the white walls, Over the heads of tired-looking health visitors,
I thought of Pete speaking magic in his leather jacket, pointing out over a watercolour city, talking about the wonders of creation, making my friend blush just with his pro-noun-ci-ation,