The Prize of Paying Attention

An extract from an unfinished piece, written January 2018.

The darkness doesn’t linger too long.
The birds see it-
At four-thirty, they swoon melodies of rising,
At half seven, Sun begins to break through the
sleep-veil;
It is still light at a quarter to five.

The divine gradients of chalk blue, blackcurrant and peach return,
patiently, to our skies,
As watercolours running across a page,
Delicate and freeform, tinted beauty.
Clouds, as a gilded world map
Scattered and strewn above

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