Up all night,

shuffling complaints,

I finally sleep

consoled by

the first soft strains

of morning.

No sign now

of the moth

I confided with

most of the night,

as he flittered

at my bed light.

Gone in his

dusty overcoat,

another

refugee,

slipping out with

a suitcase

of worries

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Funny to think of you gone

On a bright morning like this,

Crossing the Euston Road

With rolled sleeves,

Nothing to do;

10:12, on a Tuesday in spring.

Sky blue and dotted with clouds,

Cranes swinging

In construction dust

And breeze-blown blossoms.

Workers whistling in shiny yellow hats,

The city in full swing,

As I walk away from myself

In bright cars and mirr...

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Listen close between the

horns and percussion

of the churning traffic

you'll hear the sunlight 

creaking 

across the floorboards

of an attic room

the one where a fly 

keeps buzzing In and out

as if looking for something

he left behind.

Someone is waking now

and reaching out

in an otherwise empty bed

while in the balcony below

the wid...

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