London Poem: Day 177

10 February

You move lightly,
Like sounds along telephone wires,
Unseen travelling
From post to post, and then
To my awaiting wall.
You voice gives to me
The blind distance
To which timbre learns to tremble.
We give and get,
And you close yourself off
And sweep away the
Easy going night,
Waiting for the next
To begin.
For me, the night, and your
Sweet voice
Never end.