You know those long, luxurious lie-ins of a weekend with the door closed and the kids playing quietly downstairs. No, me neither… A second draft shared with dVerse.

 

REVEILLE

I bend foetal
as the kids clamber
through the mash

of sheets. Dawn
draws them across
the beached hulks

that are you and I
in the tideline of sleep.
Trailing a spray

of dreams through these
rough latitudes towards
blind windows, they reach

for the light. It waits
against the glass,
wrapped in air. We wait,

dead wood still against
revelation: promise,
threat or certainty.