It orbits and it shines a silver light
on everything; a sort of moon; a sort
of greyscale presentation giving thought
a physical reality that might
mean we can tread the streets that either dreams.
I see you walking, stopping past the trees
to harvest light to check your watch. You stand
and look around. I’m here. I wave a hand.
I call, but I’m the watcher no one sees
and you’re an image. Nothing’s as it seems.
At least in monochrome I see you here.
I watch the way your bum waves its goodbye.
Your heels tap their remorse code loud and clear,
and leave me here to want to sort of die.