Today I am visiting your Chelsea House

You have been commissioned to illustrate my most recent poems

I do not think that poetry can be illustrated

You agree but spend the next three hours illustrating my work

I feel that my poems are too oblique

We break for coffee and you invite me to join your swimming pool

Which is in the basement

I note that it is dry and full of furniture and avoids recreation

You tell me that you use it every day

Soon we are swimming amongst the Aaolto chairs and the fine pine tables and later we rest exhausted on your powder blue Chaise Longue

In an hour we are working again

You speak of your collection of paintings all works by the sisters of famous artists

Blue on Blue

The Stations of the Cross

Christ in the Suburbs

There are many adorning the plain walls of your modern house

I touch these walls and feel the hum of the city

My publisher visits the house

He is keen to see your illustrations

You present him with twenty-eight sheets of plain paper

He protests

You say that the soul and not the brush should illustrate poetry

I think he understands your argument and leaves soon afterwards

We talk and share yet another coffee and then I leave you alone once more in the Chelsea House