The Start of the Salmon Season in England

Everyday was summer, cliff edge house, the Northern Sea.

We caught game 

and drove Japanese.

The novel naivety of an electric roof.

Often you stood.

Half in and half out,

the breeze would blow a smile across your beautiful face.

Living like monks,

before the dissolution of monasteries.

Everything in our world was good.

But coasts erode, winter corrodes

and words now fall like winter rain from your mouth,

denouncing past ways of living.

And we, an analogy,

for a perfunctory smile

and the

end of the salmon season in England.