His wings are tied on, not with string and wax but super fast, double Boing engines and jet fuel and that is ok. He is already in Dubai waiting for the connecting flight, which is late but that is ok too. I know because he txt me. All those miles away the txt arrives with a steam train whistle into my phone, saying, all ok, delayed by two hours, but all ok. That all ok, means all in the world and for now that is all I need to know. And so the early grey tea soothes in the morning, as the sun begins to appear above the houses out the back. And I will play my guitar in the kitchen, knowing its what he would expect because nothing changes, except him not being there, reading the Sports pages in The Guardian while supping Cheerios. The cheerios were said last night, and I was fine, just fine… they only get him temporarily but I for all time. We listen to this in the car all the time - I belong to you, you belong to me, in my sweet heart:
