The Wasp-dream

The kind wasp woke me –
it knew that I had dreamt
so its wings began to hit the glass
’til, bruised of life, it went

to a mouldy corner
of the blackout blind
and walked along the window sill
until it left my mind.

It must have had a séance
amongst the piling tread
as I later found it curling there
dried out and dead

Cold Car in the Dawn

Each and every city morning
like countless fires extinguished falling
dark and letting darkness reign:
the people wake, in bursts, a flood
of living drowns the world again

Along the cold cracked-concrete roads
with cold-cracked paint, the living do
their to and fro about the earth
and driving quickly up and down –
each darkling dawn a swarming birth.

But in each cask, each bleary eye
sees dawning sun conduct the sky
in symphonies of light and shade
and sometimes from them tears are drawn
by dawnings from which days are made.

Though sufferers may infuse the world
in pleading song, and rightful hurl
sharp judgements out upon the head
of human shadows, enemies
who screaming wish the world were dead:

Shadows can vanish in the light
and leave the mind from time to time.
And wiping sand from out their eyes
we humans bear upon the sun
and bask resolving under skies