At the end of Westminster Bridge a piece of paper, once folded, has been blown open to reveal a note. It is written in haste in proper writing with a proper pen.
It teeters on its creased edge, totters in the breeze and is blown upwards.
In the air for a moment.
On the surface of the water for a moment.
At once ink is teased from the paper by the Thames, blackening the water by some incalculable fraction.
To the lady on the bus [at once the river lifts the words from the paper]
I saw you just now as you passed. Our eyes met. I don’t know how but I know you.
Somehow you [water permeates the paper] so you see I had to write this.
I’m leaving it for you so that [darkening water and ink combine] and I know you will too.
I’ve left it on Westminster Bridge because [entwined, blended, ink and water move as current]
I know you’ll find it. Please contact me.
My name is Daniel. My number is [tumbling in the current, the river saps the last of the ink and sets to work unmaking the paper]