I wake with the daylight, until
practicality dictates a
change of tactic and the battle
to serve the clock asserts its might.
Orientation with the day,
via a peep through my curtains,
offers the schizophrenia
of the indoor outdoor climates;
at five, or is that four, I wake
to the past season. At six, or
was that seven, adjusted clocks
declare breakfast claims attention.
In my bubble of artificial
light, surrounded by dark, senses
on full alert, I creep outside
to re connect with shadowy
shapes: to feel free, to taste fresh air.