they said sing in private,
Zan shouldn’t sing.

The train is the way,
the tracks a scar cut
deep in the land
you can’t help but touch.

Mum was
a raised axe and a party hat.

i run like a goat
tongue-lolled

But first the sun has to break in two

on that new broke land           I don’t anymore

recall               there may have been a tree line or a hedgerow

a grove named & a bird’s sternum

Spring 1833 – mists folding their sheets in the fields.
Isaac Roberts feels the turned earth, his father’s
farm an island in the hurtling Milky Way –

Wet tarmac blinks red and gold,
names shine outside the Gaumont.
‘Stop dreaming, you’ll get lost.’

Before the first turn of the key, before
adjusting the mirror, before releasing the handbrake even,
Dad said: there are two things you need to know.