Winter Mornings

Mornings begin gently, curling
silhouettes on bedroom walls,
burblings of doves and fluting
magpie calls. I watch the geometric
frames of casement shadows harden
as planes of light slide swiftly
across floorboards, and turn to where
the rectangles of glass show blue,
last summer's wasps' nest like a stain,
the fascia line, the timbered annexe
cantilevered out beyond my view,
where intermittent sirens rend
mind's safety-nets.


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