We trawl for the talismans of time-travel along pewter shores and craggy pools   Our six-year-old selves caught in bowls of brine, mirrors to ripple  our reflections outwards Your red wellies a sudden thrill  against the lash of rock, salted in mist your edges beginning to soften  But you are too far out   Ever searching for the ridged whorls of ancestry. The present haunting and hunting the pa...

Because the tighter I squeeze,the faster you’re gone And the faster you leave ,the tighter I hold on.