4am
Poem by Harvey Gillman
A pencil of light pokes its way
between the curtains. Plays
upon your eyelids. You wake.
Slowly your mind unscrambles.
Your body moves stiffly towards the morning.
Time future, past, present assemble.
A choreography of space unfolds.
A woodpigeon sings on a tree, somewhere.
The patterns of yesterday’s fears
dance tattoos across your skin.
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