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.