Wintry wind tunnel-tumbles through trees:
engine-insistent, vacuuming bare boughs;
my early a.m. sleep is stolen successfully.
Awakened, yawning, at least luke-warm:
mattress generous, antique four poster:
snug-soft pillows, duvet bosom-plump.
Short-sighted, grappling the stubborn switch,
reluctantly turned on, bedside light soft,
thoughts typewriter-tapped on a black tablet.
Dawn squeezes through unbuttoned shutters,
I cold water wash, don un-warm clothes,
descend the dark draughty sweep of stair.
Last night’s stove ash, silken silver slivers
poked through grate gaps, void cast-iron cold,
chopped log inferno-flames worry the window.