Tape-arrows placed upon the red-wood floor;
famil’yur pillars painted white anew.
Rope running – frayed – from sanded standing posts;
lift-lockdown wind that winds its breezeway through.
Outside, upon the paved ‘n railing-ringed
walk – sheltered – way, where Sunday patrons sit,
the sun, through th’river’s auld reflection sings
on th’wooden slats below the Cascade Steps.
Black, filtered heat within a paper cup,
that comes to me from silent order made,
spills out ‘n o’er upon this sonnet, for
to write this moment on this pen-lined page.
At last, here in this lifeful harbour home,
I sit ‘midst Bristol and compose a poem…
william altoft 