Five In The Morning
It is five in the morning
And sitting, blank staring at the screen
Where chicken scrawling 'cross the white my words fall
Heavy
I wonder about how deep you sleep
I breathe in air that is crisscrossed with yours
somehow
The sunflowers are older
the room is darker
the morning threatens to come with emotions fatigued by too
many things
and too many hesitating moments
how lives are filled with the sweet and sour of bravado and
uncertainty!
how lives are lost in the small hours of the morning,
turning away from what is healthy and honest
in the pursuit of beauty and skin
stupid even in old age
the sign of our kind
the mark of jonathan's arrows to david
one fired after the other
farther and farther
and how far do we go before we realise that
home is where the heart is
that simplicity is not the same as stupidity
that the rain in the morning
is both a lullaby and a weeping...
And I wonder
How soundly you must sleep
while I try to find links with my life, in my work
how houses rise and are occupied!
how also does music and word rise and fill us up like naked
air!
It is five in the morning and the morning threatens just around
the corner
and I would really rather be in a house of rosewood and teak
beams
alone and far from electricity
not up all night
looking for alternatives to
the natural order of things
but just breathing in and breathing out
and lying close to the other
also breathing in and breathing out
in secret concert with me
it is five in the morning
and i fall into the arms of sleep
so reluctantly
craving another sea of love
not slumber
