This morning your heart stopped working.
They phoned me first –

My old address card was in your pocket.

You were wearing the suit we found
Together in Chelsea, the grey flannel,
Hardy Amies.

Rien: You always said to me,
‘Why don’t you stop writing poems for a while
And tell me a story?’

At first I thought I would cry to death.
When we met I loved you and wrote about you,
And never stopped.

They were all about you –

Even though we went away from each other
Into many worlds.