Intense sinus pain encroached
and the world was excised of wonder.
Just as the map was pinning out,
my mouth was loosening, murmuring.
I sullenly gazed at the some of the trees passed
and tried to make majesty of the Lune Valley.
I'd been quietly excited all day,
having never been in a valley.
But by Glasgow I'd been reduced to waiting
for my soup, trying to keep my spirits up.
It was like when you keep a joke going.
You keep it going too long and it's awkward.
It's sad. It's like when ecstasy starts wearing off.
You pretend it's not happening.
But your heart always reminds you
that something that filled it is gone.
I had a book about motorways and the treasures
they delivered you to were rendered magical.
I was obsessed with things far away
and I wanted everything far from me.
The Lune Valley, Eccles, Rugby
airbrushed into mind, brilliant, unplaceable.
Suddenly there and truly in my heart,
yet what they had replaced, irreplaceable.
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