A woman is swimming over London,
a fox turns up his face to see her pass.
There are blackbirds in the sleeping streets,
a pear tree luminous with blossom.
It’s the dream she always has,
the dream where she’s stretching out
until all the houses are gone
and the fields give way to a beach
where the yacht that’s moored in the bay
has a light in its cabin window.
She smiles and swims over London,
darkness swaying her hair.