Insomniac


Three am, the wind is sheeting the rain along the street turning the council greens to sodden fields –


is anyone else awake to see the windows shutter in the storm the traffic signs and streetlights blur


or hear the water swirl in the leaf blocked drains?


Everything is changed, but the moment – I’ve been here once before the house silent as the grave, familiar in shadows


something waits


then it was the future, and everything I would make happen: no one turns above in sleep no one dreams, or pushes the blankets down


and what of the morning light? the factory windows are bricked-up the punching machines are gone to scrap


all the cities of an old Europe wait to be visited.


Is the sky a lighter grey above the roofs of the timber sheds? a lone youth staggers into the estate collar turned up in a feeble gesture


and then the piercing scream of an animal caught in the yards:


we talked of death that night, the fire growing cold, We die each moment, she said, and this will end too – I thought her crazy.


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