a small valley town
with a population
that can’t provide
a decent crowd
at a football match

standing in the centre,
downtown,
you can see the edges
where the houses stop
and the hills continue
to rise behind them

too small for a highschool,
an atomic age bus carries
students and shoppers
to the next town

in a house on your street,
a familiar face
became an accomplice

curiosity twisted and bent
a childhood friendship
into a new shape

in the quiet hills
above the town’s sparse lights,
you took chances

it felt like love
you knew no other word
that might describe the feeling

it felt like love should -
a wound you could not live without -
it would last as long as you did

In early September,
when the sun meets the west
behind the CBD,

the warm bricks of Kingsclere
become a rough mirror
for the ruddy end of the light
that passes through the city towers
and up Hughes Street

to bounce off the bricks
of the Kingsclere wall,
and project a warm tint
into the east side,
the evening shadow side, of Byron Hall,
colouring the window trim,
the balcony supports,
and even the grey mortar.