Nothing More

I will sit in Café Nero
with the sound of violins
and write free words.
The sun of Italy will shine down from the walls
and I’ll forget that I’ve forgotten how to write.
When all is done I’ll go back out into the crowd
and disappear.
Someone else will sit down here,
writing a sonnet or a play for Channel Four.
But I won’t care.
Give me a day for following the song
and nothing more.