You go here and go there, but also stand still,
return to the same spots: the bench on the hill
in Victoria Park, above the plane trees that veil
through winter branches the city’s spill,
platform seven, same-time Tuesdays, Temple Meads
gloomy and Cardiff central gleeful in sun,
a table in the café waits, routinely
where you sit, before work, as you’ve always done.
You are running too, when you can, through early dark,
sun lifting lazily over Ashton Court’s tree-lined hill,
cross-country reps. Wednesdays, in Manor Woods Park,
this New Year’s world breathes cautious, centred, still,
those night walks home; Orion, seems the spindle,
that turns time through January’s long chill.
