The Tunnel.

Just past the station at Dore,
Into the toad green rocks
It slips – silver and red hot and virginal-
Bang on time, running like pistons,
Out of the light that showered

the bending trees, swaying
With  god or nothing.
They shall be forgotten
In time, by the grass and the wind.
I feel someone is watching,

By the river where we sat-
The tree’s foot, bare roots – arms beknotted.
It zips by, clinging to the track,
To gravity and with it, I once
Held you. Love, we prayed at the time, drowning in.
The river’s rush. Its heart begins
To beat anew, clucking. The
Rocks have some memory of us stored.
I held that moment there until
The train entered the tunnel
And a magician’s veil of black;
A cloak.

It was only then I realised
The lights were on in the
Carriage. 'It’s strange,' she once said, 'when eyes
Adjust and see anew.'

There is nothing
Out there now
But unending black; no
Light to see the impenetrable mist.
Just my reflection in the new mirror;
A portrait of our Dorian years;
And memory drowned – leaving
Sheffield and you at last. I am
Drunk on tunnel fumes;

And on your gods.

How did we get here? Suddenly
Scared of adventure; feeling
The cold, cat-black;
Air that seeps through the window.
It feels like the night, years before, when
I pushed you away. November was 

Rustling the trees and the
Rain ached from mine to the bus stop.
We held hands – knowing – it was for nothing.
And then that kiss; no tongues. Your
Hair crying, me dark and winded.
The tunnel’s air is breathless and sodden
Full of black walls and lightless creatures.
God was watching.



We move so fast now, trusting,
That the tunnel will end. That a crown of new peaks
Will rise unbothered around the edge of some reservoir;
A million baths to wash away the past.
I have counted the days; my head to the glass;
I have watched the blackness; heard the waves of an engine trapped.
I have faith that the Tunnel is outside, still, after
All this time; and that the dead
walls weep and that we could have fought on.

But we did not.
I know if I believe, it will be so.
And then, unannounced, I
See a wall of square cut
Stone, growing brighter by the
Yard. I feel the air and its radiance swell
And passengers wake from silence – they feel
That something beautiful is near.
and then a sky explodes and a flash into brilliance;
Grindleford Bamford and Hope.
Someone is watching.