Racing by train to see you but there’s a fault on the line.

This is why I keep stamps, fold bills in a biscuit tin.

I pop a pill to sleep. Letters fall from my hand

This is why I press flowers, find the only patch of sunlight

 to stand. When you called it was everything I didn’t write down.

Hurtling by train to see you but there’s a fault on the line.

It’s not what’s said, but the saying. We know the voice 

tricks. How words plunge from a cliff as you gulp them.

Sleeping pills taste of mint. Letters, folded fall from my hand

This is why I lay out all my clothes for the morning

& wring wet ones till they’re wept out.

Stumbling by train to see you but there’s a fault on the line.

This is why I reply to emails fast.  Flick coins into fountains

but don’t check which wishing side they land.

There’s no sleep, even with pills.  Letters re-read fall from my hand

You reach a point when you can see the rest of your life:

a low level tunnel with rooms to each side

or a nine car train with decent wifi and a fault on the line.

Take these pills  - here. My letters to you fall from my hand.