When Drax is in Mist.

Because I cannot see it, then it isn’t there.

All there is is the river and the field on the other side.

It does not tower above the Georgian trees

Gargantuan concrete blot,

It is not waiting near the grazing pigs, looming.

Because I cannot see it, then it is not where

The distant grass touches the sky, as the tide

Runs in below the willows and the grey seas

Swirl with the river silt beside the plot

Strewn like a pigsty under the blooming

Sloe, white blossom littering the ground.

Because I cannot see it, then I do not care,

I am in a children’s book, where the river is wide,

And all the ducks are swimming and the only sound

Is that of small boys with pink legs and fat knees,

Singing.

Because I cannot see it I stand and stare.