I wake up with no song in my head,
try to reminiscence what’s forgotten,
but I have no memory today, not yet.
The birds leave the tree nearby. Early coffee
sounds like a jet trail, not the plane itself,
but what remains when something leaves,
a weal amidst the clouds that we can see.
A solitary bee carries the soul of everything
I have obliterated. One read a book,
‘How to rescue a bee’. The best is to leave
the box we live in and let the windows eat
away its walls. I have no wall today. Not yet.
Photo Nick Victor