rising (in the sun-gold of winter)

the road outside
is alive
to monday

a car throbs
roar races
then throbs again

as I open my eyes
sun-gold sieves
through lashes
that don’t want
to part
I burrow in

a little more

a little longer

all I ask
a while

voices fill the space
to my window

they rise and rotate
like a flock
of wheeling birds

I’ve seen them
in pictures
across the sky

rises and falls
and swoops
and then
shrill laughter

no peace available
on a sun-gold
it seems

I’m confronted with a choice of sorts
will I rise
to face the beginning
of a week that seems
to start

the wake of a car
shushing down the road
seems like an echo
of an opportunity
that is already behind

too far behind

just yesterday
I noticed that the trees
have all been abandoned

suddenly the leaves
are fallen
all of them
to the ground

it’s the middle
of a winter
dragging on
through the oppression
that comes
with a monday

by the throbbing lament
of the neighbours car

and the streaming
of sun
angling through the window

and in the ache
that I feel
as emotion

the reluctance
that is both
a grip
and a hold
and a sentence

a decree
in the end
that tells me
I must rise

must rise


3 thoughts on “rising (in the sun-gold of winter)

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