Five a.m. planes shuffle

push & slide as time

 

loops from my

fingertips:

 

you sleep in

another’s bed

 

head cradled

by the night

 

splash of sun

at dawn.

 

The children

concertina

 

riding their own

projectory,

 

& the sea is in

my thoughts

 

demands I shred

these London

 

days;

 

head for the horizon

where the whales

 

sing:

 

where the big dipper

signs my name

 

silently

in starlight.

 

 

 

 

 

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