Night Books
Hampstead to Camden after
A late pub the streets running
To grey the ground falling
Away to Gospel Oak
Your muffled echoes alone
The Heath screened by house-rank
Hour of moon-tint and fox-walk
Approaching Kentish Town
Now prefer a diversion
Revelling in narrower ways
A backstreet bookshop window
Flashed beacon in Tufnell Park
Square-panel glazed display
Propped-about thin volumes
Continental translations
A life in other cities
And pondered printed visions
Novellas of neon light
But time to finish homing
Wrapped in the fragrant darkness
