Our Best Shoes

The ground is burning,

set alight as suns

disappear behind beaches

and we watch from afar.

I wonder whether we will

be wearing our best shoes

when our gardens begin

to singe.

There is no use in

hopelessness,

so still we idle

in place holder futures

and prices of travel.

The only heat we feel

is warmth of starlight,

the Thames is calm

and black beside us

and we are small,

we are so, so small.