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John W. Sexton, UK

Daynight

shaking out earwigs
cut flowers
in each fist

From a narrow window in her head she sees into the courtyard. Weak moonlight washes over the lawns, is defeated by the shadows of the tall hedges, the trees.

A nightjar, restless in leaf mould, cries out from the darkness. Suddenly morning.

five fat Buddhas
she slices apples
into a pan

Suddenly night. She dreams she is a tower with a fire burning in its high turret, sparks glittering into the dark sky. The courtyard is encroached with shadows, shadow-trees wavering towards her, pulling back, stepping forwards.

Suddenly morning. A pain throbbing in her temples she deadheads the roses, bruised petals accumulate at her feet. The sun soaks into dull clouds, the sky a gray flannel.

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