Tuesday 24th April


We drive up to the roof founding scattered cars alone
in random slots. The rain cast a blue light that some call grey.
Puddles watched the sky, with one eye for the foot-fall of
distracted shoppers. Closed signs s pressed their faces
up against the glass of windows & all the lights were dimmed
like it was still night. A street devoid of cacophony is a beautiful thing,
a gift on loan to an early riser. I felt shiny as a new born
as we walked together -held you close as you whispered in my ear,
“Who made ‘you’ Sheriff?”.