When
The whites
Of your eyes
(In Vienna)
Yes
My story
I so so ought
To place it
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
A poem
Clouded by a play
A play
Shrouded with intimacy
Into love
Walk together
Into life
Stand apart
Into time
Never closer
I was quite determined
You also perhaps
Having given to me
Your telephone number
You also had shown determination
Going up to London to see an old flame
Yet you returned
To invite me onto the dance floor
Un something or other
Goes along
Unknowingly
Unsteady
Unruffled
Underneath
Unknowingly
Undone
Unjust
Just that
That’s all
Unkempt
Undistinguished
Unknown
From a small space
To a nowhere place
A meandering stream
To a river in spate
From a village
To a county
Which I call my own
Yet where I don’t belong
From a main road
To a motorway
Over a suspension bridge
To a walled city
Where love
Invited me
To the gallery
Then the theatre, and finally the hotel