Are those chance encounters, in the street or on the phone, with one person or an idealised composite? This intriguing poem comes from Garfield Taylor’s collection White Horses (Bookguild, £12.99) and contrasts with his customary nature themes.

CHANCE

Sometimes I chance upon you in city streets,

Maybe in wild, inclement weather;

But if in passing, your Gallic smile greets

My own sanguine thoughts, then come whatever,

We’ll be together, even under umbrella.

For those few moments we can exchange our news;

On crowded pavements, with people rushing through.

Walking down past bus stops with long queues,

We make our workplace exits and adieus.

On occasion, when I pick up my office phone,

It’s you that’s there, the telephone operator;

And suddenly I find I’m not so much alone,

But chanced upon my future alter-mater.

And so we have a laugh before I make my call;

Our busy lives, so full, have glanced upon each other

Once again, maybe we’ll gel together, in any weather.

Come the day I’ll phone you up and ask,

No matter rain nor sun, if you will chance your all.