Stratford-on-Avon
No More Yielding

The sound of home is in your laugh
in your handprints on my arm
in the way your head rests on train windows
eyes drifting in and out of slumber
through staggered shunts of train stops.


Sleeping silent – what do you dream?
What rare vision do you see?
Stirring, barely present
No more yielding but a dream.


Remember those cobbled steps
short crosswalks
takeaway coffees in hand
past the honeysuckle, dewdrops
and daffodils
I still have your keepsafe
and I’d always cherish it.


The train pulls in
away in these thoughts
I wish he was here
but with me, he resides
in the memory I carry
where time is free to pass
he’s here with me, at last.

by Stanley Iyanu