Cameron Lane


Arrived back here, I was confronted with

Evidence of a previous life, littered memories –

No, not memories: indistinctly forgotten things.

A thousand simple things cacophonous

In their reticence. A Yale key to an

Unknown door that’s somewhere locked; receipts

From nights out, the colours faded to a

Papered obscurity; lid of a pen

You used to scribble a memo for me, now

Unremembered. It reminded me – as it were –

How artists in still life do capture death

In one frame, exquisite detail of the peel

And rind and pips left on a plate;

Aspects of incidence, as manifest

In accidental mess and unwashed bowls.

How Time is rendered real and tangible

Through minutiae. How light, itself

Invisible, refracts upon a surface

Or in dust motes, renders itself to gold.




One thought on “Cameron Lane

  1. What a vivid scene! Lotsof meanings and images and feelings. Good to read aloud. Love, Gran

    Sent from my iPad


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