waking too early

but how late it is how late

sand pouring through cracks

a morning sharp-edged

brittle as a long-stemmed glass

dropped on a stone floor

paintings on the wall

I’ve seen so many times, but

never looked before

this house creaks and groans

it buzzes, beeps, ticks and clicks

life affirming rhythm

over the village

white clouds billowing upwards

a shadow falling

along the central belt

roaring traffic, factories,

tree-lined motorway

over and over

searching for that missing part

knowing it’s not there