Another day

Another day with the sun in the sky, and the earth turning round it
Light easing through the slatted blinds

Neighbours’ voices floating in
Cars slipping by

Purple bendy straw in my glass, shifting in the fan’s air
The world cannot be any other way

My bedroom, sanctuary
Of old, beloved things

Seen from the same angle
Dependable, year after year

Beneath the patina of familiar finger grease
New perspectives lurking

Give it a shine with a sideways glance
Spread by the steady cloth of attention

And see the change that ripples up
The world cannot be any other way


For that next bright dawn

The geese, all week,
have been flying. Home.
Away from this sharp promise of snow
cutting through crisply darkening skies
south, to the crucible of summer.

Their far-carrying call
slicing through the high, cold air
picks up our hearts by the scruff
and deposits them, safe
but shaken and absurdly hungry
for that next bright dawn in March.