I slipped underneath
Where your foot touched the rock
And was imprinted on the stone.
Slow down the bird
In its Sussex flurry
To rooftops coldly dawning.
I see the future
In the wick of a candle
And the arm of a sofa,
In the shrug of a meal
And the want of touch.
I see the future with
Eyes like taps:
Turning on the television.
Sam Huddlestone 