In the world where you and I live together

it is my south London when I step out the door
but dreamtime when you do, close by Hampstead Heath.
Your friends tele-transport here, come bearing gifts –
paper dragons, red lanterns, mochi, growing flowers.
The phone snatchers on electric bikes
have become poets and perform in rhyme,
their wheelies synchronised in perfect time.
Your bionic knees are magic and we love to walk

each day through the woods. We’re stronger every week.
You swim in the thermal ponds; I listen to birdsong.
Our garden brims with blossom, hums with honey bees.
In your old home your nephews live - they make music,
bake bread. They have a special corner shrine to you.
Every day I write and read my work out loud to you.