Broad ford
Bradford
A water start,
Beck-crossing
to a city.

And go now
to the mirror pool,
its north sky silver
shining pandemonium,
sulphur-smelling and
skinned with soot
and wool thread.

The pool reflecting
folk laughing,
the faces of folk fretting,
fighting, folk unheard –
folk just turning up.
Folk out of danger,
Folk looking for trouble.

Stand at the mirror pool’s edge,
look for your face
find it,
seize it by the eyes,
and dive.