daylight saving time

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.


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


tickled by the breeze


while I slept and awakened


in surprise

by the new season