zebrasindenver

crackling pipe

cold glass

bright screen

i am writing again

I met you out the front on a day in april

in your pale trench coat

a black umbrella

i asked how you were

you were ok

i told you you were beautiful

for all that rain

i hope you believed me

I heard the other day

of a young artist

who fell so in love

with a woman that loves me

that he wept at her door

in the hours between my sleep and my waking

and i thought not of either

but of the day

 the day free of love

the day free of it all

and the morning with a cat at my feet

and the day at my window