AUBADE (sans le soleil)

Wrapped futilely

in the realm of beauty sleep –

dawn rarely dawns on me.

             Long after the appointed hour,

the room is thunder-black -

             draw back the curtains.

The sky has lost

its breathing space –

             choked by the clouds,

voluptuously hanging

in their mourning drapes –

symbolic of a troubled world.

             I sigh, and seek

the duvet’s solace –

for me the day

has not yet quite begun.

          Malcolm Evison 2006