Banker from Yorkshire

When train rattles south

- warmth - it is - we face

and warmer still - we might arrive

kipping with an open mouth

and b’hat self-pity

leavin’ snow behind a pace

into a sleepy London city

and t’other willful acts we may conceive.

Just now

inside a notebook, on a table in front,

I wrote lots of words - with letters revealing

something not around before; I suppose

a relationship - paper and pen and tipping nib

- and I’m hoping that between the scratchy paper,

turns and lines, a spirit-charge of

electricity could light a shadow,

unleash a note, arise from a dream

that I scribbled in a word in a

notebook on a tabletop out there.