In a doorway I shelter from the rain.
It might be man that brings life to an end,
We are made up of atoms and empty spaces,
and particles that don’t exist.
I walk past the church
and think about things you can’t know.
The rain hasn’t stopped, but probably will.
Past the parade of shops,
past the lap-dancing venue,
along the line of second-hand cars,
through the cloud cover
over the square I go.