Coffee, dark in the dark morning
Soothing my throat of sleep’s work
In the shadows of the cold room.
My enjoyment sleepily ceased,
Of this waking dream, I sit aching
From yesterdays forgotten exertions.
Birds, flowing in their sky-patterns
using air as their darkness, they live
In the shadows of the breeze.
One lands on a gutter and slips
Into a drainpipe, scraping the walls
Impacts the dark stone and rots.
It struggles to leave, constrained
Eyes at the perfect level for worms
It cries shortly, immobile, waiting.
Speculations on how to be freed,
From this dispersing life, aided
To spark once again, in the night.
