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This is a fantastic poem that Astrid sent today: a mind whirring on as the day passes.. thoughts and feelings passing through it... the edge of wanting attention. My music tries to capture the relentless whirring, while the melody clings to it like the thread of lived experience.

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In the morning the birds sang remarkably well
into the not-yet-lived day.

A light promise of muchness and an
emerging thread of sweet nothingness.

It is mid-morning. I too often say: I love you. And am in two minds about it.
It is true. And the slow and steady current running
beneath this day, that is advancing now.
It is superfluous. And has an edge of wanting attention, when I can leave this stream,
this ocean of love entirely alone.

It is lunch time. The reflection of the sun in the canal blinds me.
Have you ever run along the canal with closed eyes?
Listen carefully, this is not London. It is Utopia Village,
where other runners smile at you and I run farther.

It is afternoon. Two spicy cookies and a cup of instant coffee.
A fleeting wink, as the clock trudges on.

Evening is approaching. Dusk coming down and hugging this city.
Levelling. Slowing time and movement.

Night has come. As you are not here, I will not be wasting any further words of mine.