Friday, 3 October 2014


A reservoir’s evening sheen,
not fifteen minutes out of the city,
extends to matt, interleaving slopes
which pepper with house lights
as commuters, running late, come home.

By a converted rowing station,
I’m browsing a translated menu,
picking up conversations from a year ago.
What to choose for this return visit?
Flavours don’t just recall themselves –
they are memories and places,
friends you shared them with.

Image: Marina Shiderova; text: Tom Phillips 

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