To ballast the loose things in my head and get away from the others in my flat I’d sometimes go up onto the roof. Across those noisy London streets I could only just make you out, up over there, equally alone on your equally flat roof. Perhaps it would have been good to meet and laugh and exchange a special look but I never did work out who you were or where you lived.
And now, I’ve come to think that being vague and distant remained your greatest strengths: perfect for the pointing out of amusingly-shaped clouds, the Etch-a-Sketch jet trails in the sky and some embarrassing waving over and above the traffic. This was the closest we could ever get, I now understand, to singing a horse with no name at the top of our voices outside a fetching café in an unspecified European city.