this time of year the darkness barely lifts
what’s more it’s cold and wet they say
it could go on for days
we’re surrounded by a patchwork
of fields interspersed with lanes & trees
draped over hills the ground is
waterlogged
I look out of the window outside
starlings attempt to murmurate
black against the grey
there’s too few of them
& too much sky between them yet
they contract/expand the space they occupy
as if part of a flock indoors
you watch tv while I sit in the corner
writing a poem about the sky
the short days stress me out
as breath turns from down to up
and again as breath curves from up to down
I pause for thought while others
30,000 feet above my head
doze through in-flight films
or check on automated systems
through both these turns, realise
I try I really do
not to forget
I’m writing a poem about the sky
there’s always a danger of course
it might turn into something else it’s all too easy
to fill the empty space take refuge
in illusions let them distract us from
the clear light of the void
from time to time
friends message us ask how things are
we say okay ask after them
talk about the weather & how
sometimes you hear a plane you can’t see
concealed as it is by the unbroken cloud likewise
at night no starlight makes it through
if you turn out the light you could be anywhere
Dominic Rivron
Picture Nick Victor
.