There is a pile of envelopes on the stairs, ready to post back to their owners, and another pile on the sofa unread.
Robert Nye died last week. He was a poet.
Remember the joke about windows?
So do you need to know about the poet’s life?
It’s a sort of spectrum. At one end – the safe end – there’s persona (Robert Browning – ‘My Last Duchess’).
So I’m dreaming and in the dream, I’m thinking, this dream wouldn’t make a good poem because it’s stuck.