Dawn; when the wild birds
serenade me into waking,
for even at 5am there are war wounds to nurse,
new peace treaties to sign.
The words I write are wet from last night’s rain,
folded into a paper aeroplane
and dried by the wind as it journeys to your door,
where you’ve sat up waiting for the news pages.
Today’s headline is ‘Growing Pains’;
the weariness when the hard work comes,
when our love hits the breaking wave
and we’re thrown in new directions.
We become the weekly crossword puzzle,
finding the missing letters of how we fit together,
the clues by which we are defined.
Turn to the classifieds, all that’s seeking and selling,
the ones you’ll read over morning coffee
with tired eyes from yesterday’s late to bed.
There’s my scribbled message in the margin,
my simple advert for a better life –
‘If I can keep you, I’ve already found mine.’