The river, undulating silk

brushed from the brow

of St Paul’s.

 

A half moon

hangs below Venus;

it’s cold, so cold,

 

the wind turreting

concrete corners.

 

I should get out more

stand away from myself

watch life form in pockets

 

the similarities there in the

pivot of the planets.

 

No water,

it seems we are parched;

 

you live above the rolling tide

we watch for thunder.

 

Tonight I want to

lie down on the swell

let it engulf me.

 

No further than this,

wait for an answer

where no answer lies ,

 

in the cold undulating

swell of a winter river

and call for you