There is a pile of envelopes on the stairs, ready to post back to their owners, and another pile on the sofa unread.

Robert Nye died last week. He was a poet. 

Remember the joke about windows?

So do you need to know about the poet’s life?

It’s a sort of spectrum. At one end – the safe end – there’s persona (Robert Browning – ‘My Last Duchess’).

So I’m dreaming and in the dream, I’m thinking, this dream wouldn’t make a good poem because it’s stuck.