Something about the hiss of a taxi
cruising an empty street,
its foggy yellow light
skidding off piles of black bin-liners
is trying to let me know
this isn't my night.
Something about the look of your front door
its familiar fanlight star
picked out in black
ts trying to get through me
that you and I
have turnerd some sort of corner.
Rain off the river, mixed with the smell
of pavements in summer,
is trying to let me down lightly,
I stand on the step
while the sound of your doorbell
echoes down the hall.
Hugo Williams, Billy's Rain, Faber & Faber, 1999