My sister explains they tried to put the blind up but it fell down.
It lives in an elongated box, awaiting a window in the domestic
Calendar. I’m easy. I sleep like a prince, waking at dawn,
(A half-ten lie-in on the Westerly passage), dreams of Berlin.
Eva’s buying beer in a DIY bar; British businessmen drink big
Think small. I dream in Berlin because I was there when Theo
Was born. The news reached us on Karl-Marx Allee. News clouded by
The present, a present receding with each day Theo grows.
The dawn window frames a metal fire escape. Sunshine falls on
Leafless trees. Inert lumps of snow frame the trunks. I spy half a
Garish garage. Behind it an elevated road. Traffic nosing noise-
Lessly. Theo cries on waking. Still working it all out, eighteen months in.
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