Boy Running (for Ioan) Poem by Paul Henry.

The canal tilts him back and fore
like a boat in a toy pen
or the bubble in a spirit-level
that never quite finds its middle.

There are worse ways to grow tall
under the rustling sun and rain
between bridges 14 and 21

to outlive an owl, a drake, a hawk
where no two leaves blow the same way
and pumpkin lanterns moor for the night.

Run, boy running, run
past the sighing old man
and his blind Labrador,
the foal in her wire necklace.

Run, between east and west,
spring and autumn, dawn and dusk.
Is it your breath now or mine
deep inside your chest?

There are worse ways to never settle
in full flight, to be loved.
Run, my shadow, run.
Run but always stay in sight.

An owl cries, deep inside the trees.
The canal's glass is full of moonlight.