I remember last spring
with it's gold-dipped wings
and your bodies' hot white
stone.

I am waiting at a platform remembering
last spring, with it's gold-dipped wings
and watching the rails between the coals
gleam like Godpoints between
their screwed coals -
your bodies' strong white stone.

And a man is looking at his phone
holding cream-coloured dogs who strain on
mismatched leashes and  rub themselves on the sunbrewed
concrete.

I am waiting at a platform remembering
last spring, with it's gold-dipped wings
and your bodies' young white stone

and the women cross their

legs -