He came by in his funeral suit

In an open hearted shade of blue

Asked me what I like to do

On a july evening.

To bermondsey or to shoreditch

I said I don't know which is which

The night a thread for him to stitch

For me, the unbelieving.

In the end we just stay in

And gesture with our mugs of gin

Dance around this borrowed kitchen

A stop and start dumb snow.

I am a cloud filament

We advance in tender increments

Between the past and future tense

Test the weight of both.