Your words sat on the supermarket notice board, red, blue, green and trolley pushers went past but looked up as they counted their soft loaves, minding feet, anticipating the rain as they broke out of this sharply lit place. Poetry for the people you were saying and I wondered if anyone needed such shapely words as they checked their plastic bags and calmed their children. Do we need new- old words for grey, for tired love, for empty? Then I looked around and everyone had stopped gazing into their bags and were nodding because they could.
Yes we do.