The curtains are drawn
I draw the curtains apart
Dust, then the sun stubbornly leaking through each crevice
Demanding attention, scarring skin.
Today, there’s a new world outside:
Some mountains, a murmuration of birds maybe,
A clear blue sky.
A faint rustle of a lonely oak by the window, then shadows
Dancing, on floorboards.
Maybe they’ll fold into each other
Hand in hand, limbs curled up in limbs
Or a boat, bobbing. A bobbing boat.
A sleeping dog in between sheets
An ardent lover reciting Keats