Waking at five or so to white sky and various bird beginnings from exhausting dreams of past emotional encounters I can rest at last in a small room lying still considering whether to go back to sleep seeing the sky go colours of sunrise I begin to wonder how the tree looks and the wall downstairs in the shadow of the houses sleepers lie asleep in Kenninghall in diss in Mellis bliss behind the children’s eyelids all alone in morning silence what is peace if it is not loving indiscriminately others? watching over all human sleep and knowing there’s no need and every need to do so? what is peace but watching while being loved and cared for by the very clouds and trees and grass nourishing earth and the candid sky breakneck rivers rising tides? newspapers at seven o’clock are laying on the day the grey word of war and world of worry all I want’s a weather forecast promising there’ll be more weather and the Earth is still alive.

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