Dark (March)

Six o’clock not. Lain awake argument-thoughts:  someone’s stupidity, workplace dilemmas new-hatched, unpuzzling dreams, and it’s still dark. Sacrum pain again: maybe take a Panadol. Strangely a bird makes first sounds. A train was heard rushing down the ridge three blocks off, in the dark. Five o’clock surely. Thoughts of sex, religion, bushwalks. O to be Miró painting night and day. But someone in the house puts on the kettle. Well yes that’s right. Warm or cold? Two doonas or one? It must be March again. Dark at six. Pull over covers for ten minutes more moony-thought. The cat wants out.