in the half light of morning

between the tangles of dreams

and the almost-possibles of day

I lie in bed and listen

birds call to each other

or to no-one

rain falls suddenly on the roof

a car moves someone along the street

someone already upright

eyes open

doing what they have to do

through shuttered eyelids

I listen

to the sound of your breathing

in and out

in and out

your body rolling in stale sheets

beside me

far beyond my reach

I listen to the clock that doesn’t tick

and the one inside my head that never stops ticking

to the lists of should-have-dones

and yet-to-do’s

scrawling themselves across the whiteboard of my brain