peripathetic

Walking together what remains
I love this found poem. It caught my eye when I was in London and took me out of the rush to a cleaner, purer time when I was a boy interested in almost nothing apart from castles and medieval music and words. A time when I was so interested in words I'd peer at them over my glasses, so close I could see the grain in the paper and the way no letter was perfect.
I really like this colour poem too. It's more modern and at first you feel it postures too much but it's so gentle, notwithstanding a few jarring photos. And a perfect, imperious winter poem. A shy boy.