Seven Lines from Saturday

Beyond the curtains, the first spring-like day we've had.

A few nights ago, I dreamt of spinneys in the middle of fields, small clumps of trees, leafless, even though it was summer. In the dream I had previous memories of visiting these spinneys over other summers. Last night I dreamt about writing my dissertation for my degree. I had neglected to put in references and was worried that my dissertation constituted too much original research.

At the call centre this morning, the sea glittered.
It was the first time I had seen the sky for weeks.

Afterflow

An absence wells up, there is a blankness
where certain years might be.
Ghosts of pale spring days.
Empty rooms turn like clockwork,
and hands cover eyes.
I cannot remember how he moved.

Five Lines from Cold Days

Dreams of junk shops and looking for old horror comics among the stalls.
The grey portentous skies of a town I will never visit again.
Bright skies and air cold as knives.
Sleep is heaven.
I am still here.