The morning is a shattered cup. I chance
bare footfalls in a slow and watchful dance.
The birdsong’s absence registers before
I wake. I wake to rain and nothing more.
Awareness takes its first, slow sips of sight
in fine bone china cups of milky light.
The city breathes its low, subsonic roar.
Long waveforms break along a distant shore.
Before alarm, my thoughts are sung by birds,
and then my brain is battered into words.
Moon sliver, grey-blue clouds, a lemon smear
of watercolour sky. Welcome to here.
A wave receding on the sand leaves shown
the moment: fragment shells and weed and stone.