four is a number I know
a number doused lead to marigold

a movement of march through
july—the eleventh

as I step past swerve footing
the place we met first(

royal exchange steps)
;july now; how sorry I am that

things way ended the way they did
—if I could be a plus one?

young stretching up longfully alive
‘I’m glad I’m the one who found you’

the ours once mine now mine again
Paths I evict from employment

‘that’s why I’m always hanging around’
a reminder of life’s sad song

;it’s been four months of
something more than nothing

(though not yet anything) &
I am stung a splinter cannot

dry the memories from these
wet London streets, o, eternally wet

How much I looked forward to this
anniversary! this longing

no girl hit me up my chin as she did
as she does again & again

if these not mine, then hers
(fluorescence highlighting all I write)

I’m doomed I’m doomed doomed
for even as someone born alone

nothing makes me feel as
she (in all life’s feathers )made me feel