Beneath branches of cedar
we made a case for ourselves
in the slim, cut-through air
of winter. Scrabbling around
in the roots, you found
a cassette tape—two reeling
eyes loaded and drunk
with delicate black ribbon.
You pulled at the thread
until we were knee-deep
in music and, pirouetting
like the summer just gone,
you barely left a mark
in the hollow, spent needles.
____________
Daniel Nixon is a writer, poet and musician who lives on the
southern edge of the Peak District.