Dawn has a sickly hue, breaking even earlier than that shunted hour shoving forward, molecules in disarray electrons buzzing through nerves, my face feeling slapped. Thoughts misfire, stutter, retreat, I need sleep. Propelled ahead an hour but the bones object and stall, travelling forward heavy, a canon ball destined to fall, landing with a solid whump. I am flesh, not fit to speed through time, a pitchfork at my back, my cells deconstructed, reconstructed, a timesheet noting I slack. I close my eyes and try, and try to go back.
Posts
pebbles
a world turned so cold
the sound of tumbling pebbles
washed up on the shore
canvas
delicate pink wash
a smudge above a treeline
on a dark canvas
welcome
little cushioned cheeks
tiny fingers stretching out
welcome little man
modesty
in modesty the
elephant’s ears hang over
it’s fine pink flowers
door
a wind picking up
changing its direction
a door slamming shut
season
one morning in January
the sun rose before I awakened
so startling it felt
as though
I had missed the day entirely
and slept
whilst spring flowers
pushed through
the soil
their bright faces turned upwards
yawning from their long sleep
kissed by the sun
tenderly
tickled by the breeze
fondly
while I slept and awakened
taken
in surprise
by the new season
drum
thinking it traffic
that steady tinnitus drum
banging in my ears
singing
blue skies winter sun
birds singing along the path
the draw of a desk
waiting
waiting for a friend
standing under the poplars
I feel so small