Your phone still works. All I have to do
is dial your old number and I’ll hear your voice
sounding almost like yourself.
Perhaps you are not feeling well?
I am walking in a part of London
unknown to me but for the fact you live here,
and always have done – an alleyway
I never knew was there. Now here’s the
tall house at the corner of the street,
waiting, a faint glow at the window
dark as a beetle’s wing. There’s something
the matter with the door, its heavy, rusty
hinge won’t give way. How will I explain
why I haven’t been to see you all these years?
