Cut through to Lacewater

I was sat reading Warhol's Interview
in a little park near Love Lane
where I worked in the library

Soho is quiet at 5
fog from Hampstead Heath            bonfire smoke
hold hands to cross the road

It's the season for visiting
and the season to sit in the dark

Room after room
I forget who they are
Wait            for a cup of tea
and a biscuit            drip drop of a tap
bevelled edge of wall mirror
a prism            for moon

Someone big
climbs the stairs
rattles a lock

It's tough for me to forgive
put my face to the sun
I need some muslin            a filter
tone everything down a notch or two

A crater in the chalk landscape fills
we did it all wrong
I'm stuck            decades adrift            forward & back
wind blows the train into my back garden

Accidents happen
and we make magic out of them
random pinpricks in wrapping paper
no kidding
an espresso            in the drizzle
on the corner of Frith and Compton

We had an arrangement that worked alright
for a few years

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