South Bank again

The river, undulating silkbrushed from the browof St Paul’s. A half moonhangs below Venus;it’s cold, so cold, the wind turretingconcrete corners. I should get out morestand away from myselfwatch life form in pockets the similarities there in thepivot of the planets. No water,it seems we are parched; you live above the rolling tidewe watch for thunder. Tonight I want tolie down on the swelllet it engulf me. No further than this,wait for an answerwhere no answer lies , in the cold undulatingswell of a winter riverand call for you