We four, smitten by the smoke,
Sink deep-
Feeling suddenly a surprising kinship
With boggy field, gaunt pines, rusty stones
And even the morning light on the shiny lino.
The moment refusing to slide away,
Yawning with infinity…
Then young Ian, drawn to action,
Mutters “bloody fools!” under his breath
And dashes outside to start the Honda
And career crazily around the hilly, humpy

field.