Sunday, February 23, 2014



Morning after another night of working
     very late,
my eyes follow lines my mind’s too tired
     to take in;
from beyond the glass a sparrow’s cheep
     rings sharply,
cheep cheep cheep—a new sound, though who knows
     when it began.
Dust motes tumble in a haze
     of autumn sunlight.
Soon, in rooms nearby, the neighbours
     will be rising.

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