Sometimes I dream
of the foghorn near the docks
whistling like a forgotten friend
in your letterbox
walking home from work
after I had left for the last time,
  
Remember the ringing of the last tram
freezing  in the air
like a photograph
before breathing too quickly
ain’t you glad you walked away?
  
Sometimes I dream of
the chime of the clock
which freezes at mid-day someday
weeping under spires
and underneath dock boats,
  
Dreaming of my heart
******* in chains
instead of knots  
before I unpicked the lock
and walked away without regret
  
stealing inspiration from the sunset.  


(From the End of Summer - https://www.amazon.co.uk/End-Summer-N-Andy-ebook/dp/B01LY7YR9K/ref=sr12?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1475915722&sr;=1-2)