Wave
We have learned to wave distantly
through glowing windows glimpsing
a well-placed bookcase or houseplant
imagining the corners of a room
their piled-up flotsam
we have learned not to ask
what happens at the watershed
we observe flows swelling
dull chocolate-custard brown
we imagine crossing on dark boats
we have learned to still ourselves
appreciate meltwaters’ rush fear
birdsong its inaudible
depreciation measure time
by clanging scaffolding
we have learned to watch buildings
dip their toes in autumn
calculate seepage into cellars
observe potholes yawn open overnight
mushrooms burst through tarmac
we have learned to amble
in repeating patterns wear
constantly muddy shoes and
as if they’d share our hopes
wave at dog walkers on distant banks
Julian Dobson lives in Sheffield. His poems have been published in journals including Magma and Under the Radar, and on a bus in Guernsey.