They tell me that the novelist next door
is working on a new book full of fight
with all the characters named after colours:
Rose and Pink andBlack and Brown and White.
He’s the kind of guy who knows the ropes.
He is so at home in his own skin.
(Of course it could turn out a load of shite).

And I, today, have reached a small peak
Of cloudless unconcern,
With no demands, and no calls on my time.

I’m standing at the window with a coffee,
the first flush of spring on view.
I know that in an hour you will return
and I will have this greeting ready for you.