Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

The train stations of middle England  

with their ‘Parkway’ epithets,  

fried breakfasts and untidy homeliness.  

A couple of buzzards, farmland.  

Almost nothing to see.  

I notice a certain harmony  

for the first time on an old song.  

Something I must have been missing  

for years – as if it had never been.  

I wonder what it would feel like  

to talk to you once more about that small noise –  

that near inaudible voice.