To reconvene my soles with that which made me an author
Oh, to Can the Town,
to tame the Thames would misdemean a plastic sound.
I’d’ve liked for you to come in the past tense
to the bridge with a brick stench
over Canada Water
I’d like to start a Canary arc, or
go where London’s falling
away from a wistful belonging.
Oh, to breathe the O2 at the start of time—
the homey fog would revive…
only comes forth
from the red clouds strung across the sky
that’ll always taint