Looking out over the platforms
of Clapham Junction station, the estate
where I lived when we first met
named after a Russian cosmonaut,
we marvel at the trains, the tracks, the lucky
or unlucky carriages, the gaps
our younger selves slipped through,
the end-points we could have chosen
or been taken to, that somehow
it’s all brought us back to this city
where connections are made or lost
or sustained; then sleeping,
spooned, balancing heart with heart
dawn will break, let dawn not break.